


THE GANG PREVENTS AN ASSASSINATION

by AlasPoorAndy



Series: the who feat. led zeppelin [3]
Category: Bandom, Led Zeppelin, The Who
Genre: F/M, Gay, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-10-16 04:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 92,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10563381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlasPoorAndy/pseuds/AlasPoorAndy
Summary: the third gang fic, aptly named.





	1. how many more times

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to lucy and freya, with love.

Roger shouldn’t have been home so early. Pete was usually careful with these things, being sure to cover his tracks carefully and remove any evidence of what he had done before Roger was due to come back and find out. 

Roger was finished early and decided to come home and surprise Pete with flowers and an invitation to a nice dinner. He hadn’t even taken his jacket off in the front hallway yet when he unmistakably heard the sound of exactly what he never wanted to hear coming from Pete’s bedroom. 

Roger abandoned the flowers and dashed up the stairs, his stomach filling with icy dread of what he was about to find, mixed with the anticipating anger that came with his realization. He could hear an unfamiliar voice from the other side of the wooden door. Roger burst right in to Pete’s bedroom, catching him red handed. 

“Oh, fuck,” Pete jumped up, startled and looking like a deer in the headlights. “Roger, babe, I’m so sor–”

“You bastard!” Roger stood in the doorway and melted into huge gulping sobs. “You absolute bastard. I always suspected, but I never thought you would betray me like this…”

Pete scrambled to cover the evidence and smother the voice. “Roger, it’s not what it looks like. I swear.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Roger demanded, angry under his irrepressible sheet of tears. He stormed into the room towards Pete and shoved him aside to reach what he was hiding behind him. 

“Roger, please, just trust me –” Pete pleaded remorsefully. But it was too late. Roger grabbed the vinyl, violently ripping it from the record player. The needle scratched fatally. Roger examined the label, his worst fears coming true. 

“ _Waterloo_. You bastard,” Roger spit. He waved the record in Pete’s face. “Disco? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Pete babbled, starting to cry guilty tears. 

“I always suspected you were up to know good. I always suspected you were getting interested in someone else. But disco? This just hurts,” Roger wiped his tears away, the sting of betrayal turning red hot. In a burst of passion, Roger broke the ABBA record in half over his knee, and threw the pieces out Pete’s bedroom window. 

“Please, Roger!” Pete cried. “Stop this, I can explain.”

“Where are the rest of them?” Roger seethed. Pete was whimpering and crying and couldn’t say a word. Roger quickly scanned Pete’s room, and one cardboard album cover corner peeking out from under Pete’s mattress betrayed itself among the otherwise immaculate tidiness. In a fit of gorgeous masculine rage, Roger heaved up the mattress and found the dozens of other dirty disco albums that Pete had hidden. Roger couldn’t believe his eyes. “The Bee Gees? Donna Summers? Chic? KC and the Sunshine Band? Even Wild Cherry? Oh god, I’m going to be sick…”

Pete ran up to Roger and snatched the records back from him, desperate to protect them. “Be careful! I’m holding them for a friend. They’re not even mine Roger, I swear it.”

“You filthy liar!”

“I promise you! Please believe me. They’re not mine, I was holding them and I just got a little curious, is all. I’m just experimenting,” Pete pleaded to Roger, but all he received was the cold shoulder. 

“Who’s your supplier?” Roger asked coolly.

Pete looked away. “I…I can’t tell you.”

Roger turned and grabbed Pete’s shoulders. “Peter. Tell me.”

“Roger, you can’t –”

“If you love me, you’ll tell me.” Roger stared deep into Pete’s sad, blue eyes. Pete protested only a moment before resigning with a sigh. The taller man walked out of the bedroom, and Roger followed him downstairs into the kitchen to the telephone. Pete picked up and dialled, then handed the phone to Roger. 

It rang four times before someone picked up on the other end. “Hello?”

Roger didn’t actually know what he was planning to say, so he just yelled a lot. “Listen here, you disgusting scum of the earth. I know what kind of filth you’re spreading around the streets of our beautiful England, god save. I won’t have this corruption ruining yet another innocent soul. Don’t you dare think that I won’t do anything about this. Your terrible music is going to destroy the innerworkings of Pete Townshend’s beautiful, blossoming mind. All you’re doing is stunting the progress of society and the unification of the working class. You can’t distract the saviour of rock and roll when we need his work the most. His music inspires the underdog. His music sparks the flame that will keep the people of the world alive, with an insatiable lust for life and the burning desire to demand more from their parents, from their bosses, from their government, from the world. His music inspires the people to move from their seats and break from the status quo that is trying to keep flourishing minds from developing life changing ideas. His music will inspire artists to create, geniuses to build, bravehearts to protest for change, and the ordinary to become extraordinary. Changes come slow, in miniscule increments, but unless the wheel is rolling we cannot possibly advance as a society. Heroes are born and heroes die, but once in a lifetime we get a martyr like him that sacrifices his life to support and encourage his brethren to accomplish something radical that will change history and make the human race better than before. And that’s through rock and roll. Then you come into my house with this overproduced top of the charts Europop bullshit, and you disrespect the empire we’ve been building together since Pete and I were just schoolboys, lost and directionless and waiting for someone to show us the way? You think your fucking dance music is going to save kids’ lives like rock and roll does? You think we’re going to find a cure for cancer by injecting people’s brains with the desire to pelvic thrust on some disgusting dance floor and succumb to carnal pleasures of the flesh? You think you can do music better than me? You think you can satisfy Pete better than me? I will find you. I will find you and I will destroy you and everything you do. This is the end of your days. I’m taking back what’s mine. I will find you, and I will fucking kill you. I will literally kill you.”

Beside him, Pete stood there awkwardly. There was a prolonged silence on the other end of the phone, and the sound of someone shifting. “Who is this?”

“This is Roger fucking Daltrey, who is this?”

“This is Robert fucking Plant, darling, you called me first…” he sounded unsure but played along anyways.

“Oh. You sound different on the phone.”

“Yeah, you too. You were yelling so loud the sound kept clipping.”

“Oh, I’m awfully sorry about that. I hope that wasn’t irritating you.”

“Well, I know you weren’t doing it on purpose. I forgive you.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Roger smiled, then caught himself smiling, and pulled himself back into a glare as he growled over the phone. “But anyways. This immoral behaviour needs to end now. Don’t you dare rope Pete into any more of your disgusting vices.”

“Oh, I understand now,” Robert quickly got into character. He purred. “Has Pete been a _naughty_ boy?”

“No, Robert, this isn’t a sex thing. I’m actually really pissed.”

“Sounds like he needs to be _punished_ ….”

“Stop! Stop the phone sex and stop the disco music.”

“What’s wrong with a little _pleasure_ here and there, hm? I know you’re a fan of that in your free time, aren’t you, darling?”

Roger huffed angrily. “This isn’t over.”

“I know, sweetheart. We can talk about it soon. I’m just a bit tied up right now, but I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’m actually excited, I have my bags all packed. I can’t wait to see you all again.”

“Won’t it be fun? I know you’ve all been working hard on the new album, this vacation will do you all so well, and –” Robert became distracted with something on his end of the line, calling over his shoulder. “Keith! Don’t touch that, you naughty thing...”

“Wait, what? Who’s with you? Moon, Richards, or Emerson?”

“The annoying one,” Robert giggled into the phone, then called back to Keith. “You’ve been such a _bad boy_ , daddy’s going to have to teach you a lesson…”

“What the FUCK,” Roger shouted. 

Pete snatched the phone from Roger, trying to listen. “What’s going on?”

On the other end of the line, there was rustling and giggling and some suspicious wet noises. Robert seemed to have long forgotten about the phone, and before Pete could hang up, Roger was grabbing his arm and dragging him out the door and into the car. They drove over to the infamous Zeppelin Residence and Part Time Orgy Centre/Sexual Education Facility.

“This is the house of SIN,” Roger was screaming at the doorstep while Pete knocked on the front door politely. While they waited, Roger tried to kick over a huge potted plant on their porch but it didn’t work and it was kind of embarrassing to watch. Within a minute, a small man in a bathrobe opened the door for them with one hand, a martini glass in the other. “Good afternoon, and welcome to the Zeppelin Residence and Part Time Orgy Centre/Sexual Education Facility, please remember to take off your shoes and shower before entering the – wait, Pete, Roger, is that you?”

Pete and Roger furrowed their eyebrows in unison. “Elton John? What are you doing at the Zeppelin Residence and Part Time Orgy Centre/Sexual Education Facility?”

Elton John laughed. “Oh, I practically live at the Zeppelin Residence and Part Time Orgy Centre/Sexual Education Facility now! Sorry I didn’t recognize you, I’m high off my tits, man. You guys gotta have what I’m having.”

“There’s no time for that, Elton John,” Roger barged into the Zeppelin Residence and Part Time Orgy Centre/Sexual Education Facility angrily, and Pete had no choice but to hurry in and follow him. They crossed the open concept main floor past the sunken conversation pit filled with a sea of naked rock stars, groupies, models, artists, and a few influential politicians all tangled together. They stepped over a ménage à trois on the shag rug by the brick fireplace, and the horrifying scene in the kitchen with the fondue. Roger and Pete snuck through the secret entrance to the staircase to Robert’s bedroom, which was reserved for only the best of the best. Respectively, the two of them had spent their fair share of time up there over the past few months. 

Roger tried to kick the bedroom door open but it didn’t work and it was kind of embarrassing to watch. Pete figured this sort of thing must happen to Robert every other day so it was good of him to reinforce the door.

“Who’s there?” Keith Moon’s unmistakeable voice called out. 

“Um,” Pete cut off Roger before he could speak. “It’s Pete and Rog, and Rog is feeling homicidal so maybe you should open up.”

“Oh, well it started when I was a teenager, and my parents didn’t give me enough physical affection so I felt the need to chase for it elsewhere which damaged me emotionally since as an adolescent I wasn’t prepared for the heartache of brief love affairs and one night stands, thus spawning my deep rooted fear of abandonment, and –”

“Open up the _door_ , Keith.”

“Oh, yeah, gotcha.”

A few seconds later, Keith unlocked and opened the door for them. Roger was already cracking his knuckles, ready for a fight. Keith was also wearing a white bathrobe, and he looked like someone who had just gotten fucked by Robert Plant. He chuckled heartily, calling over his shoulder. “Stay in the bath, darling Robert. It’s just these two clowns…” Keith turned back to Pete and Roger, looking panicked, and mouthed HELP ME. 

Roger wasn’t having a good day, so the least he could do was try to overcompensate and be a hero. He grabbed Keith and picked him up, carrying him fireman-style down the stairs and out of the Zeppelin Residence and Part Time Orgy Centre/Sexual Education Facility. Pete started to follow them, but hesitated. He quickly let himself into Robert’s room, and snuck into the bathroom where Robert was having a soak in the giant golden bathtub. 

Robert took the two cucumber slices off of his eyes, then smiled when he saw Pete. “Oh, hello, love. Care to join me?”

“I can’t,” Pete frowned, feeling all types of guilty. “Look, Robert, I really appreciate you hooking me up with the goods, but I can’t do it anymore. Roger’s right, I pledged my allegiance to rock and roll. I can’t live in the shadows this way.”

Robert gave him an unexpectedly hard stare, and bit into a cucumber slice rather violently. “Are you going to live your life based on what _he_ says you can and can’t do? Who have you become?”

Pete stared at the ground, digging the toe of his shoe into the fuzzy purple bathmat. “It’s not like that. He says the disco lifestyle is sin and will corrupt me. I dunno, he might be right.”

Robert moved, kneeling in the bathtub and kneeling over the ledge to stare Pete in the eye. “Pete, if you want to boogie, you will boogie, goddamnit. Play that funky music, white boy. Do a little dance. Make a little love. Get down tonight. _Be_ the dancing queen you were always meant to be.”

Pete looked away, stifling another oncoming barge of tears. “I can’t. It’s not worth losing Roger.”

“I see,” Robert snarled, sinking back into the bubbly bath water. It was safe to say he and Roger were still fighting over god knows what it was this time. “Well, just know that you’re always welcome at the Zeppelin Residence and Part Time Orgy Centre/Sexual Education Facility. And if you happen to be in my room doing that lovely thing with your mouth, and my copy of _Main Course_ just happens to be playing in the background…”

“Please,” Pete whispered, dropping to his knees in front of Robert. “I’ll do anything. I just can’t keep the records at my house. And if anyone asks, I quit disco long ago. Long live rock, and all that.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve got you…” Robert leaned over to kiss Pete’s forehead, just as they heard someone stomping up the stairs. Pete stood up quickly and slipped out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. In a flash of masculine rage that was sorta really sexy, Roger burst in yet again, grabbed Pete by the ear, and dragged him back outside to the car. Not before, of course, passing by Robert’s collection of disco records in the living room and successfully kicking the stack over.


	2. are we ready to rock and roll, lads?

Another van, another road trip. Pete was loading their suitcases into the trunk while Keith and John settled into the back seat together. 

“Ready for another trip, dear boy?” Keith grinned, buckling in his seatbelt. “It’s been too long. I miss being out on the road.”

John got comfy in the seat next to him. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I genuinely enjoy when all eight of us can get together like this. It’s certainly something for the history books.”

Keith crossed his arms over his chest, settling back into his seat. “We do get up to some pretty crazy shit. And we’re just randomly fucking off to another country for a few days or weeks or whatever. Is…is anyone concerned about our flighty tendencies?”

John furrowed his eyebrows. “Didn’t I have a girlfriend at one point? Wasn’t it mentioned once when we had that gay ass road trip to the beach?”

“Do we even have families? Friends? What year is it?” Keith looked over at John. “We’re going to a pretty big gig. Does anyone actually exist outside the eight of us? Where are our managers? Where’s our equipment?”

“No, but for real, what happened to my girlfriend? Is she okay? Did she die?” John chewed nervously on his bottom lip. 

Pete, who had been listening to the conversation, got into the driver’s seat and looked back at them. “Sounds like someone’s a sloppy writer.” Pete then slapped himself in the face, because he got a foursome scene and he should show some more respect, damnit. 

Finally, Roger appeared in the doorway, smuggling something discreetly into his jacket. He grabbed the last of his bags and put them into the trunk, then joined them all in the car, installing himself into the passenger’s seat. “Alright. Are we ready to rock and roll, lads?”

“Let’s do this!” Keith got them all hyped up as Pete revved the engine, and they were on their way. They sailed through early morning traffic all the way to the ambiguous English airport where they’d catch their flight. They checked their bags and got through with ease since no one gave a shit in the 70’s. They met up with the other four members of Led Zeppelin and boarded the plane together. You all know how this works. 

This time, however, there was significant character development. Everyone except for Roger and Robert had a lot more facial hair than last time, which simultaneously looked good and bad. They were all just trying to look more masculine and down to earth, but secretly no one was sure if they actually liked their facial hair or not. 

Robert and Roger went to extraordinary lengths to show their hatred for each other, even refusing to be within eyeshot of the other. John and Jonesy didn’t want to be affectionate in public but there was crippling sexual tension that everyone was subject to feeling, and everyone unanimously agreed that they should just raw right then and there to get it over with. Jimmy was trying to keep the peace between the two blonds so everyone could have a good time, and Pete was waiting around for one of them to pick him. Keith and Bonzo remained painfully sober for the flight because they were trying to be good people. They scored seats together and played game after game of cards. Pete sat with them and kept a vigilant eye on the two of them, making sure they behaved. Pete was also just pissed that Jimmy was squished up in the aisle seat behind them, and trapped by one woman who had an oxygen tank and no feeling in her legs, and another person beside her who slept solidly the whole flight. Jimmy couldn’t weasel his way out of his seat to fuck Pete in the washroom again. Robert and Roger got stuck sitting together and refused to talk to each other. They fought over the arm rest, and the magazines, and the free bags of peanuts, and whether or not to keep the shade on the window up or down. The poor teenager sitting in the row with them was already making plans to burn his Led Zeppelin and Who records when he got home. And finally, John and Jonesy both had the aisle seats across from each other. They could see each other, but not touch. Every single person within a five seat radius personal felt the sexual tension. So close, and yet, so far…

You all know how these guys and airplanes work, so we can skip ahead to when they landed in a nondescript Swedish town. It was outside of the capital, but could successfully balance a humble cultural epicentre while still hosting a modest nightlife to entertain the tourists they brought in. Year round population of about 100,000 while the seasons fluctuated with guests due to the prominent skiing industry and couple’s retreats. Main exports: lumber and granulated brown sugar. In an attempt to rejuvenate the entertainment in the city, it was unanimously voted upon by the city council to host musical acts while they passed en route to the big cities, with the added benefit that the musicians could relax in privacy for one picturesque snowy Swedish evening. There was a modest sized venue where The Who were due to headline, followed by Led Zeppelin, by some stroke of totally unrealistic luck. They did a killer job as usual, no problem. They played to a polite audience that seemed to always be on the edge of their seat, waiting for something more. So Roger swung his mike harder, and Pete jumped higher, and Keith kicked more shit around than usual. But still, they couldn’t crack their audience and get them to let loose. Pete figured it was just a Swedish thing, so they wrapped the show up with some fan favourites, saving Boris the Spider for last. As the last note rang out, they said their thank you’s and goodbye’s and somehow that was when the audience exploded with cheers and applause. They could exit the stage knowing that the Swedes liked _something_ they did, at least.

Pete was the one who introduced the following act, implying lightly that they were all good friends to keep the good vibes flowing. No one needed to know that the eight of them sodomized each other regularly. It was all very relaxed. 

Robert stood at the microphone with his harmonica, paying tribute to all his favourite blues singers, while Jimmy played a trodding riff beside him. The room was dark and smoky, but with the air of something quite fun approaching quickly around the corner.

At the bar, John sat back against the wooden counter with a stiff drink in hand, watching the two other members onstage stand on guard for their explosion into the rest of the song. John kept a close eye on the rhythm section, always biased to appreciate his own counterparts in a band more, but this time he happened to actually like this bassist the most out of all of them. Onstage, off in his own corner, Jonesy didn’t even take his eyes of off John the whole time. It was clear who he was trying to impress.

The song reminded John of a different dark, smoky night at a different dark, smoky bar...

It had been a long, dry spell for him, with the frustrations of daily life mixing with the frustrations of recording and touring. He hadn’t been left with his thoughts for more than a minute to realize that they were in the same town for the same weekend.

John was downing yet another drink at a bar he liked to visit every time he was in that city, enjoying the solitude of his own thoughts as they slowly blurred together. He was hungry but uninspired, thoughtful but lost, and about to be the subject of a divine intervention.

The barman tapped the stretch of bar counter in front of John, trying to get his attention. When he looked up, the man handed him the phone, speaking in the local accent. “It’s for you.”

In a daze, he accepted it and held the receiver against his ear. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” the phone crackled warmly, like a familiar record coming to life. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. How did you know where I was this time?” John smiled, in love with their Europe-wide game of cat and mouse.

“I heard your band was in town,” he said casually. “And you said this bar played good jazz music.”

“You’re too clever,” John finished his drink. “Where are you?” 

“The same boarding house as last time. It’s much too lonely,” the other man’s voice went deeper, muskier; meaning he was in a mood John loved all too much. “I want you.” Then, the naughty little thing went quiet on the other end of the line. There was some muffled rustling as Jonesy slid his hand under the blankets between his legs, and then very distinctly, a hitched breath and a small moan running through the spiral cord of his phone directly to John and sending shivers down his spine, trying to maintain his composure in public. In the middle of a sigh, the other man said five words that made John jump from his seat, letting the phone and some cash fall to the bar counter with a clatter as he ran outside to the dark streets to desperately hail a cab. 

The drive felt like hours, and John asked the driver to drop him off a block away so he could walk there discreetly. John knew the other man preferred renting flats instead of bouncing from hotel to hotel. John didn’t want to give the other tenants renting the rooms in the building suspicions about Jonesy. John let himself through the gate at the side of the property and into the backyard, getting quite the thrill out of sneaking around like that. Much to his content, the back door had been left unlocked for him. John slipped inside and crept up the stairs as quiet as he possibly could, and without giving himself away, he let himself into Jonesy’s room.  
The other man was already stretched out in bed, freshly showered, beautifully naked and elegantly covered in those soft blue bed sheets of his. The smooth skin of his back was lit up by the pale moonlight from the open window, making it feel like the dream John played in his head over and over on dry spells like this. In a dreamy daze, he kicked his shoes off and drifted over to the bed. 

He crawled onto the mattress behind Jonesy, lovingly brushing the man’s long hair off of his back. John kissed each knot in his spine, travelling further downwards until the other man was shivering under him, moreso once John got adventurous with his tongue.

“John, oh god,” Jonesy was startled at first, but welcomed the sensation once it started to feel quite good.

“Oh, I’ve missed you…” John grinned, and started to get quite carried away. With a loving hand on his hip, he rolled Jonesy over onto his back, getting comfy laying between his legs, and John got to work with his mouth. As always, Jonesy was beautifully responsive. John was already swallowing him down eagerly, making up for all the lost time since they saw each other last. 

Perhaps he was rushing. Jonesy propped himself up on his elbows, already panting. “John, John, slow down. Come kiss me.”

John slid his mouth off slowly, making Jonesy’s jaw fall open. With a little rearrangement, John sat up against the headboard and Jonesy sat in his lap and they kissed deep and slow, arguably the best way to kiss. He must have tasted of liquor still, but Jonesy didn’t seem to mind. 

John couldn’t resist touching all over Jonesy’s skin, soft even over all the sharpness of his angular body. John ran his hands along Jonesy’ thighs, brushing over the light dusting of hair. His skin still smelled of soap, Jonesy must have just gotten out of the shower. That meant the other man must have been preparing for something specific in mind. Now excited, John tried to speed up the kissing, since there was something much more pressing that needed attention. John guided the other man’s hand lower to get to it. 

“John…” Jonesy sighed into his mouth, working John’s jeans open, rubbing his hand along the bulge covered by the thin layer of his briefs. Jonesy’s hands left only to start unbuttoning John’s shirt, his skilled fingers working nimbly and quick, and John swore from now on he’d only sleep with other guitarists for their fingerwork alone. 

More rearranging, and John was stripped down to his briefs, pinning Jonesy down on the mattress underneath him. He was so eager he could hardly think straight. This was going to be the night—the big night where he could finally have his way with the other man. 

_“Try to tell you baby, what you tryin' to do. Tryin' to love me baby, but you love some other man too…”_ Robert snapped him back to reality, shaking the venue with his howls. _“Bring it on home, bring it on home…”_

John asked the bartender for another drink. It was getting hard to wait. 

_“Went on a little walk downtown, messed around and got back late…”_ John caught Jonesy’s eye again onstage just as he mouthed those five deadly words in his direction, ever so subtly. _“Found a note there waiting, an' it said: daddy, I just can't wait…”_

He was drawn back to the loving memory of sticking two fingers into Jonesy’s mouth that night, asking nicely to suck for him. As impatient as John was, he knew he had to work slowly. He slipped his fingers out of Jonesy’s beautiful mouth, still dripping, and gently started prodding at the other man’s entrance. It usually took Jonesy a while to relax and loosen up in both senses, so John took his time. He kissed the spots on Jonesy’s neck that he knew he liked best to keep him warmed up. John was good at this part, and in record time he had Jonesy writhing underneath him, moving his own hips and fucking himself on John’s fingers. He was ready to go. A pool of sweat had already gathered on John’s lower back, and his own cock was achingly hard. This was it.

“Do you have a condom?” John murmured, keeping the pace with his fingers. He looked down to see something akin to panic in Jonesy’s grey eyes. John slowed down immediately. “I mean, I think I might have one in my wallet, I can check.”

John tenderly removed his fingers and sat up to find his discarded jeans, when Jonesy stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Wait, John. Um.”

“Yes?” John asked softly. Please, god, no.

Jonesy brushed the sticky hair off of his forehead, looking embarrassed. “Um, I don’t think I’m ready tonight. For, you know. That.”

God fucking damn it all. “Yeah, no problem,” John pulled together all his strength to reassure Jonesy with a kind smile. He reached out to brush his arm. “It’s okay. We have all the time in the world.”

“You’re not angry?” Jonesy frowned.

“Of course I’m not angry,” John told him. Truly, he wasn’t angry. It left him with some weird sour feelings he couldn’t process, but it was no big deal. He would get his chance one day. John lay back down against the pillows, outstretching his arms. “C’mere.”

Jonesy smiled appreciatively, and crawled over to cuddle in with John. He sighed with relief as John wound his arms around the smaller man, holding him close. The room was too still when John’s skin was still prickling with heat from moments ago. He was still painfully hard and incredibly dissatisfied. Jonesy had long since relaxed back to normal, but felt bad for doing that to John like he always did, so he gave him a quick blowjob. John came in his mouth after a few short minutes, his fingers tugging at Jonesy’s long hair. Then they both got under the covers and Jonesy was more than happy to just cuddle against John as he fell asleep. John stayed awake for a while longer, staring at the ceiling while Jonesy slept on his chest, and he felt just as blue as the night. 

Now, onstage only ten feet away from him, Jonesy was doing all his special tricks to impress John. He was such a flirt, and surprisingly seductive when he really wanted to be. But the second John was finally in his room and they were both ready to go, he turned shy and blushing. 

John took a long sip of his drink, damned if he wasn’t incredibly attracted to both sides of the man. 

“You’re all such a lovely audience,” Robert cooed. Robert wasn’t obstructed by any sort of language barrier. No matter the language, he still managed to somehow make everyone turned on. “I’d love to introduce the band to all you wonderful people…”

The audience applauded. Robert continued. “On the drums, we have this drunken lout. He’s loud, and messy, and angry, and he owes me money, but that’s okay, he’s still great. I love this guy. It’s my dear friend, John Bonham!”

Bonzo waved to everyone as the crowd cheered. “And on lead guitar, we have this sexy beast of a man, an exceptional lover with questionable habits. He complains _so_ much and he can get really fussy. He’s a real bastard sometimes. I’m just kidding. I love him. This is Jimmy Page, everyone. My….buddy.”

The audience cheered louder. “And on the bass and just about every other instrument, we have this big ol’ bitch over here. Let me tell you guys, he’s such a painfully straight edged guy. I know he can get wild but he doesn’t allow himself to have fun, like he thinks he needs to strictly regulate himself, but if you ask me he’s just saving himself for nothing. God, you’ve got to live a little, you know? Jesus Christ. Anyways, I’m just teasing. Everyone give it up for my friend, John Paul Jones!”

Jonesy was unsure of how to act, so he smiled awkwardly while everyone applauded, and they tore into another song. 

“What the fuck was that?” Keith murmured to Pete. 

“That was, uh,” Pete scratched the side of his nose. “Yeah. I dunno. I guess you can get away with that stuff when you’re as hot as him.”

“You always objectify Robert as a sexual being, understandable considering your current predicament,” Keith swirled the last of his drink in the glass. “But you never acknowledge him as talented. Why is that?”

“I feel like I’d be disrespecting the other curly blond singer in my life every time I feel fondly towards someone else,” Pete frowned. Then, he turned to glare at Keith. “Why are you making me think? You’re supposed to be the goofy and dim character archetype.”

“Silly me, I forgot,” Keith grinned. He turned back towards the bar. “Sir? Another scotch, please.”

Zeppelin finished a thunderous set, although not as thunderous as The Who, depending on who you ask, yet the audience was still too polite to budge. They gave a standing ovation akin to the one at the end of an opera, not a rock show. Maybe the Swedish folk just aren’t into rock like they used to be?

John was already backstage before the show even ended. He let himself into the dressing room with ‘JOHN PAUL JONES’ scribbled onto a sheet of paper and taped to the door at the end of the hallway by the exit to the stage. He sat on the counter and leisurely finished his drink as he listened to the audience applaud through the walls. 

Eventually the band came backstage, high on the post performance rush. Jonesy entered his dressing room alone, startled to see John, but not surprised. It was small moments like that that made John smile and get up to go to him. 

“Well, fancy seeing you here,” Jonesy murmured as John got ahead of himself and gave the other man a kiss. Then another one. Then a longer one. “You taste like rum and coke. You’re taking it easy tonight, aren’t you?”

“I hear groupies drink it for the courage,” John teased. He wrapped around Jonesy right away, no time to lose. Jonesy chuckled against him as John lifted him to sit up on the counter while they kissed deeply. John wanted to catch him at this opportune moment – Jonesy was still alive, sweaty, full of energy after a successful set. Why not commemorate such a wonderful moment in time?

John reached to unbuckle Jonesy’s belt, then his jeans, then stuffed his hand in. This part they could do. John went fast and they had fun with it, on the upswing of another high. John liked the noises Jonesy made, the way he forgot to keep kissing because he was so distracted by the feeling of a handjob done right, the way he moaned instead of pulled away when John bit his bottom lip and dragged his teeth along the skin. 

“You’re thinking too much –“ Jonesy said breathlessly, and of course he was right because he was so damn smart. John really liked the guy. But why were two ends not connecting? Why was there a “but”?

“Mm, you’re right,” John dropped to his knees in front of him, and got to work. 

“John,” Jonesy sighed, running his hand through John’s hair. It was affectionate. It denoted emotional support. This was new. Unfamiliar. Unwelcome?

John bit Jonesy’s thigh through his trouser to arouse something nastier than mutual support and affection. Why did he do that? Why couldn’t he just accept something similar to care and the L word?

“What’s on your mind?” Jonesy kept prodding, and John kept trying to swallow more dick so he wouldn’t have to answer and acknowledge his feelings ever for the rest of his life ever, until eventually he won and the only noise Jonesy could make was a deep, guttural moan. 

Thankfully, Keith interrupted before either of them could finish. John liked it better that way – no need for proper endings and goodbyes when good things could just stop while they’re good and no one could ruin them. 

Two sharp knocks on the door. “Lads, our car is waiting for us out front,” Keith called.

John detached himself and they kissed again amicably, both silently relieved that they were interrupted because they never knew how to handle themselves together. John watched as Jonesy changed into more comfortable clothes and helped carry his bag as both bands brought their things back out to the car waiting for them. 

Outside, the flurries of snow that were starting to fall were lit by the streetlamps, perfectly white against the night sky. It was refreshing to be outside the city sometimes. The smog was replaced by crisp, clean air in your lungs, and your mind was as clear as the gentle, unassuming night sky offered for free above you. It was times like these where one could really value reconnecting with the natural state. You were so alone in the world that you could finally find yourself in such a gorgeous setting like this.

“Pete, stop looking up at the sky like you’re gonna write some gay ass fucking poetry about finding yourself once you reconnect with the natural state,” Keith called to Pete as everyone else loaded up the van and Pete stared up at the sky, lost in thought. 

“Can you hop off my dick for one second, please?” Pete called back. “I’m just trying to enjoy something for once in my life.”

“It’s okay, Pete. I think it’s beautiful how connected you are with nature,” Robert appeared suddenly from behind, winding an arm through Pete’s.

“I think it’s super lovely and sexy how you like nature and shit,” Roger appeared suddenly, too, linking arms and standing even closer to him against the cold air. Pete looked at both blonds, and smiled. 

“Come on, boys. We’ll have all week to enjoy this scenery,” Jimmy emerged from the building behind them, carrying his guitar case. “I’m eager to get up and see the place. Let’s hurry along, shall we?”

Everyone crammed into the van, all tired but giddy to explore a new town and see where they would be set up for the next few days. Bonzo took the passenger seat up front, making friendly conversation with the bilingual driver in the front. Keith, John, and Jonesy sat in the middle three seats, and Roger, Pete, Jimmy, and Robert crammed into the back. Roger held Pete’s hand and gazed dreamily out the window as they started their long journey driving up the winding path up the mountain. Pete was able to relax between two of his favourite people, leaning comfortably back against Jimmy and feeling protected by Roger while he watched out the window too. Jimmy sank into Pete and Robert and Robert rested his chin on top of Jimmy’s head. Ahead of them, Keith and John made a riot of jokes and impressions and entertained themselves as usual while Jonesy sat back and watched, his eyes full of admiration and love for the two. Up front, Bonzo discussed main imports and exports with the very patriotic driver, switching with ease between English and Swedish. Unbeknownst to the others, Bonzo studied the tourist rudimentaries of the Swedish language to prepare himself for moments like these. He didn’t want to be inconsiderate when he was a guest in someone else’s country.

Pete was a bit nervous driving up the snowy mountain in the dark like this, but the driver took his time and brought them up with care and ease as they all relaxed into the gentle night. Halfway up, before they started getting into skiing territory, they all pulled up to a sweet little chalet that Robert purchased home alone one night on a drunken impulse after a launch party for one of their albums you may have heard of, all because he saw an old Hollywood film about two lovers going on a romantic ski getaway in the Swiss alps. The driver helped them unload their physical and emotional baggage to bring into the chalet for the next week or so. Everyone was worn out and tired, and unused to the kind of cold that didn’t come from endless English rain. In an attempt to be sincere, Robert tipped the driver with Swiss francs and then left to go inside and unpack. Bonzo came up after him and took the francs back and replaced them with the equivalent Swedish kronas, and then offered to make him some tea for his thermos before he drove back down. 

Prior to the trip, Robert had a lovely time leafing through catalogues and buying furniture, then sending liasons up to decorate the place for him. He designed the inside to look like a quaint cottage, and somewhere where you could relax in warmth and feel loved and comfortable. It was void of many modern and technological frills. Where a television would normal sit there was instead a huge oak hi-fi, and the only records available were blues and jazz and happy 50’s pop singles to ensure a happy, innocent time. There was even enough room – if you pushed the coffee table aside – to slow dance romantically on the throw carpet, just like in the movie. 

“This is, uh,” Keith looked around the place. It was small. It was really damn small. “Cozy.”

“Isn’t it the loveliest thing?” Robert clasped his hands together and sighed dreamily. You could see the stars in his eyes. The living room, dining area, and kitchen were all in the front room, and there were two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a storage closet in the back. And that was it. It was really, really damn small.

John went to go drop his bag in one of the rooms. One was lavishly decorated and already had Robert and Jimmy’s things in them, so he went to the other room. It was a hastily thrown together spare room, and the sheets hadn’t even been put on the bed yet. That’s right – one, singular bed. In the whole cabin, there were only two gigantic king sized beds. For eight people. Had they not learned anything from the last two times?

There was a moment of hesitation as everyone stood in the front room, deciding who would sleep where. 

“I want Jimmy and Pete,” Robert declared. Then, a dramatic pause. “And Keith.”

The others were surprised. They weren’t exactly sure what had been going on between them all but this just confirmed it.

“Context?” Bonzo asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Keith said stiffly. Then, he raised his voice. “Sorry, love, I can’t possibly be away from John and Bonzo for a single night.”

Jonesy cleared his throat. 

“Well, I want Pete too,” Roger also declared. “So he’ll be with me every night where I can protect him.” Clearly, Roger and Robert were still fighting about the disco thing and the Las Vegas thing and the Brighton thing. 

“How about Pete decides what he wants?” Jimmy suggested.

“No, no, keep fighting for me, it’s hot,” Pete reassured them. Everyone nodded. 

“Well, wherever I go, I want Jonesy to be at my side,” John said, and everyone sighed dreamily, but also realized they didn’t want to be anywhere near those two and a bed because they would definitely erupt with aforementioned sexual tension. 

Bonzo cleared his throat politely. “I’m kinda tired, can we, uh..."

“Good idea,” Jimmy smiled at his friend. “Let’s get ready first and see what happens.”

So, the eight grown men unpacked and got into their pyjamas. Eight cups of tea were made and they played three quick rounds of cards to end the night while they finished drinking. Six of them crammed into the bathroom to brush their teeth and the smarter two brushed at the kitchen sink. Then, they filed into the bedrooms.  
First try, they all attempted to fit into one bed, because they loved and cared for each other and didn’t want to be separated. Jonesy got bumped off the edge and fell off, so he went to the second room. John followed him dutifully, hoping for at least a goodnight kiss while they still had privacy, until Keith followed them like an abandoned puppy. Robert followed Keith, dragging Pete by the hand. Roger chased after Pete. Jimmy and Bonzo relaxed in the first room, amicably sharing the covers and making sure the other’s pillows were fluffed and they were warm enough. 

The six of them piling into the second bed was only slightly easier. They struggled to get the blanket to fit over everyone, and Roger kept yelling that Robert was breathing on his pillow, and Robert was yelling that he couldn’t sleep if Roger was holding Pete’s hand. Pete was smiling. 

John nudged Keith laying next to him. “Didn’t we agree last time that you were supposed to distract Robert from all this?”

“Just because I’m a hot piece of ass and the goofy character archetype, I’m supposed to sacrifice my feelings and comfort for the rest of you lot?” Keith whispered back. “Shouldn’t that job be given to the loyal character archetype since we’re diminishing everyone to the literary functions they provide to the story?”

“Hey man, that was inconsiderate of me,” John whispered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown you to the wolves like that. You’re worth more than your stereotype.”

“I forgive you,” Keith smiled.

“Was it really that bad?” Jonesy whispered, because he was also a centimetre away from all of this. 

“I’ll tell you all in the morning,” Keith shuddered dramatically.

“I can hear you, my darling angel,” Robert said from a foot away.

“Sleep well, my beautiful prince of peace,” Keith called back. Since they were all crammed in so tightly he couldn’t physically look over at him. Instead, John and Jonesy were the only ones who saw him cringe. Everyone started to relax.

“Jimmy!” Robert cried out suddenly.

“Yes, my love?” Jimmy called from the other side of the wall. Great. The walls were paper fucking thin.

Robert sounded frantic. “You’re too far, I miss you too much – “ He suddenly sat up and fought his way out of the bed, disrupting the arrangement they had just perfected. Robert sprinted to the other room and leapt into bed with Jimmy and Bonzo. “I couldn’t bear to be away from you – “

“Shh, my darling, it’s okay now,” Jimmy held Robert and started stroking his hair. Bonzo smiled fondly and turned away to give them some privacy. 

In the second room, everyone readjusted accordingly. Roger covered Pete with two thirds of his body, ensuring Pete would be safe from any danger and hypothermia. Pete was used to it. John and Jonesy discreetly held hands under the covers. Keith cozied into John’s side, and then reassured John it was just a bro-thing and neither of them should overanalyze it. Everyone settled in, and closed their eyes.

Bonzo knocked at the second bedroom door. “Hey, uh. They’re making out in there so I thought I should leave. Can I - ?”

Everyone took pity on the poor guy, and shifted over on the bed to make room for him next to Keith. Everyone settled in again, and closed their eyes again. Now it was too hot. Everyone stared at the ceiling except for Roger, who was fast asleep. 

“Hey,” Keith whispered. “Who’s up?”

“I am,” four of them whispered.

“Wouldn’t it, like…” Keith chuckled. “Wouldn’t it be totally fucked up, if, like, someone got a boner right now?”

“I can’t do this,” Jonesy sat up and climbed out of bed. He took the top blanket with him. “I’m sleeping on the couch.” John sprang up too (haha) and followed him outside.

“Hey!” Keith got defensive. “It’s just a boner. Why are you so afraid of one boner – “

Jonesy stopped in the doorway. “I don’t want to think about your boner right now, I’m going to get cranky if I don’t sleep soon – “

“Oh, so you’re too good for any old boner? John’s boner is the only one you let near you?”

Jonesy blushed. “Please, let’s just – “

John was standing anxiously in the doorway. “Come on, let’s all get some sleep. Let’s take the couch, shall we?” He started ushering Jonesy out, closing the door behind them quickly. 

Everyone in the second bed readjusted to the extra space, and this time they were too tired for any more shenanigans. Although, Keith was playing it off oddly. “Ha. I knew that would work. You’re welcome, everyone.”

Bonzo frown sympathetically. “Goodnight, Keith.”

“Goodnight, Bonzo. The one man who’s never let me down…” Keith sighed dramatically and rolled over, finally sleeping. With Roger snoring into his neck, Pete fell asleep, too.

Outside, John and Jonesy had just enough space to spoon on the bigger couch. Unfortunately for John, poor Jonesy fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow. John wasn’t quite comfy. The arm he had under Jonesy’s thin frame was starting to go numb. From the first bedroom, he heard Jimmy smother Robert’s moan. It was going to be a long night.


	3. please don't arrest me, bye

The next morning, Jimmy fried eight eggs, Bonzo buttered sixteen pieces of toast, Keith cut up two big bowls of fruit, and Jonesy poured eight cups of coffee.

“It’s a good thing you stocked the kitchen before we got here,” John remarked to Robert while they all ate at the long oak table. “You even got all our ski equipment in our sizes in the closet there, waiting for us.”

Robert smiled. “Oh, it’s no problem at all. It probably saved us about 3 paragraphs of exposition.”

“I’ve only been skiing once before, and that was when I was in school,” Keith said. Everyone chuckled fondly at the mention of the goofy dim archetype going to school. “Anyways, I’m feeling ambitious. I want to master the black diamond before we leave.”

“I haven’t skied before in my life,” Jonesy reassured him kindly to try and smooth out the tension after the boner thing last night. “I’ll do the lessons with you.”

“Great,” Keith tried to smile and reciprocate the gesture, but the sincerity just wasn’t there. Everyone else looked away. 

“I can help anyone if they need it, I’m a bit of a seasoned pro,” Roger smiled, attempting to be modest.

“My Jimmy is an actual seasoned pro,” Robert said loudly, scooching his chair closer to his lover. “Darling, did you tell them about – “

“Shh,” Jimmy quieted him quickly. “Please, I don’t want – “

“Don’t want what?” Keith asked.

“It’s nothing,” Jimmy assured everyone.

Robert got louder. “My Jimmy is so good at skiing because he used to be the – “

“Would anyone like more coffee?” Jimmy interrupted, his face going red. Robert pouted, getting the hint. The others looked to Jonesy and Bonzo for clarification, but they just shrugged. 

John rubbed his face, still groggy from a poor night’s sleep. He accepted more coffee from Jimmy, and then murmured to the four at his end of the table. “I feel like I’m so behind on all the hot gossip with you guys.”

Bonzo poked Keith from across the table. “Hey, you still need to tell us about you and Robert.”

“Not here!” Keith whispered. He looked down the table to the other four, who were in a heated discussion, probably about hair product or something. Keith motioned for John, Bonzo, and Jonesy to follow him into the second bedroom. To the ones who stayed behind, he called: “We’re just having an emergency rhythm section meeting.”

Roger was the only who looked up and smiled. “Have fun!”

“Kinda sucks how we’re doomed to be segregated in this weird musical hierarchy,” Jimmy rested his chin in his hand, looking thoughtful. “The bassist and the percussionist hold the same importance in a performance and the musical development stage, even moreso since they master multiple instruments. Whereas we, the lead vocals and lead guitar, get all the limelight. We’re in charge of the entertainment and showmanship during a performance and are expected to be above extraordinary at one instrument.”

“It’s definitely rigged towards a hierarchy,” Pete noted. “You said it yourself. While they’re named the rhythm section, the most technical of names, we just happen to be labelled the leads, thus inflating our superiority, and inevitably, our egos.”

“I will admit that it wasn’t until our divine coupling that I saw my own self reflected back to me in my musical counterpart,” Robert said, gazing over at Roger. This time there was no scorn in his voice, just mindfulness.

“What I find most interesting is how we all subconsciously flocked to our counterparts,” Roger sipped at his coffee. “There was no reason for it, but it just happened. The rhythm section stays together, and the leads stay together.”

“Perhaps it’s only because we’re all at the same level of understanding of our own crafts, thus making our compatibility based on our personalities as well as our directions in our careers,” Jimmy added. 

“I agree with Roger,” Pete said. “Sometimes I think about how it would somehow seem bizarre if we broke the counterparts. Like, if Jimmy went for Bonzo, or Roger to Jonesy, or Robert to Keith – “

“Actually,” Robert turned bashful. “About that…”

In the second bedroom: “It was weird as FUCK, guys,” Keith shouted.

The 3 John’s sat loyally on the floor, watching Keith hop around the bed while he gave them a performance.

“It started in the airplane bathroom on the way back from Vegas. Remember when I took one for the team?” Keith started. “I told Robert that J.R.R Tolkien was my great uncle or whatever. And he was on me even before we landed. He thought that if he performed sexual favours for me, I would let him in on Tolkien family secrets or give him precious signed heirlooms.”

“Gosh,” Jonesy said quietly.

“At first it was kinda fun stringing him along. I was keeping him out of your hair. I felt like I was finally useful to you guys. Then Robert got really insistent. He felt like he was owed this information. He got really into the grand seduction.”

“So you broke it off before he wanted you to sleep together?” John asked.

Keith scratched the back of his head. “Well, not exactly….”

“You slept with Robert Plant?” Jonesy cried.

“A few times,” Keith admitted.

“Oh my god…” John’s jaw metaphorically hit the floor.

“Look, I have reasons, okay?” Keith assured them. “A blowjob is a blowjob. It’s hard out there. A guy’s just gotta get off sometimes.”

Bonzo nodded understandingly.

He continued. “First, he blew me so I could tell him Tolkien’s inspiration for whatever the lead female character came from. I made it up and said he was inspired by the older woman he was having an affair with in university. Robert gasped all dramatically and started doing this thing with his fingers so I would tell him more, so I invented this story where he was sleeping with the dean’s wife or whatever.”

“Amazing,” John shook his head in disbelief. He felt something akin to love in that moment.

“The second time, we got stoned and it felt _so good_ and he started asking about if the ‘Berlin manuscripts’ actually existed or if it was just folklore. I made it up too and said they existed, and he cried in the bathroom for twenty minutes afterwards.”

Now Jonesy was in disbelief.

“The third time, however…” Keith shook his head, sighed dramatically. The others leaned forward eagerly. “He said I could fuck him if I could get him something Tolkien owned and used. Since, you know, we’re family I could just go and grab something from his estate.”

“And?” John asked.

Keith looked at the Johns. The Johns looked back at him.

“I said yes.”

“Oh my god,” Bonzo looked nervous, already knowing where this story would lead.

“The day came,” Keith started dramatically. “I showered. I trimmed. I put on my ‘get lucky’ boxers. I went over to the Zeppelin Residence and Part Time Orgy Centre/Sexual Education Facility. I’ll never forget what happened that fateful day…” Keith closed his eyes, recalling every image of that night:

The lamplight was dimmed by a red scarf thrown over the shade, turning the whole room a glowing red. The blinds were drawn closed. Incense was lit, wafting around the room. Robert was in his red silk bathrobe, rolling a joint on the nightstand. His voice was deep and full as he offered the blunt to Keith. “Care to share this with me, love?”

Keith’s hands were trembling. He felt around his trouser pockets for a lighter. Robert held the joint between his lips and leaned forward as Keith lit it for him. 

They lazed around on Robert’s bed and smoked. Keith relaxed a little. He had done this part with a guy plenty of times, but it never lead in the direction that Robert was guiding them into. 

Robert rolled onto his stomach, looking up dreamily at Keith. “Tell me the bit I like the best.”

Keith swallowed a few times, and tried to recall amidst the haze in his brain. “Persuaded by his publishers, he started ‘a new Hobbit’ in December 1937. After several false starts, the story of the One Ring emerged. The idea for the first chapter ("A Long-Expected Party") arrived fully formed, although the reasons behind Bilbo's disappearance, the significance of the Ring, and the title The Lord of the Rings did not arrive until the spring of 1938.”

Robert rolled onto his back, and closed his eyes. “Mm. Go on.”

Keith lay down, too. “Originally, he planned to write a story in which Bilbo had used up all his treasure and was looking for another adventure to gain more; however, he remembered the Ring and its powers and thought that would be a better focus for the new work. As the story progressed, he also brought in elements from 'The Silmarillion' mythology.”

Robert moaned. “More, more…”

Now Keith was struggling to remember what he tried to memorize. “Writing was slow, because Tolkien had a full-time academic position, and needed to earn further money as a university examiner. Tolkien abandoned The Lord of the Rings during most of 1943 and only restarted it in April 1944, as a serial for his son Christopher Tolkien, who was sent chapters as they were written while he was serving in South Africa with the Royal Air Force.”

Robert palmed himself over the silk of his robe. “Don’t stop, baby…”

“Tolkien made another concerted effort in 1946, and showed the manuscript to his publishers in 1947. The story was effectively finished the next year, but Tolkien did not complete the revision of earlier parts of the work until 1949. The original manuscripts – “

“Unh, yes – “

“ – which total 9,250 pages – “

“Fuck, fuck…”

“ – now reside in the J. R. R. Tolkien Collection at Marquette University.”

Robert pounced on Keith, already very evidently turned on. “Fuck me, Keith, fuck me like John Ronald would – “

They started kissing passionately, and Robert was tearing off Keith’s clothes as quickly as possible. 

Back to the present: “Wait, so you actually wanted to fuck him?” Bonzo asked. “You made it seem like you didn’t want it.”

“Of course I want to fuck Robert Plant, who doesn’t?” Keith said. The others just shrugged their shoulders noncommittedly. “Um. Well. Anyways. Yeah, I wanted to, but I knew I shouldn’t. If I did, I would owe him some obscure Tolkien memorabilia that I won't even be able to get my hands on. It wouldn't be right."

Jonesy nodded sympathetically. “So you figured you’d be a good guy and explain yourself as to avoid confusion and hurt feelings?”

“Fuck no,” Keith laughed. “I decided to make it really weird and cringey so he wouldn’t be so obsessed with be anymore and we could distance ourselves a bit to restore balance to the universe.”

“Here we go…” John muttered.

Back to the déja-vu sequence:

Robert had Keith naked and pinned down, a hand around his throat threatening to tighten. It was really hot.

"Tell me you want it," Robert purred.

Keith tried to stop salivating and stick to his game plan. He tried to come up with something gross on the spot. "I want it. I want your goo."

Robert blinked a few times. Then he shrugged. He got back into character. "Yeah, baby, I'll give it to you, I'll give you my goo..." He straddled Keith and slipped his robe off his shoulders elegantly, then tossed it aside. He lazily started moving his hips, rubbing their cocks together.

It wasn't working. Keith swallowed a few times, trying to stay focused on escaping even though right now, he really didn't want to. "Sneeze into my mouth."

Robert slowed down. "What?"

Keith sat up on his elbows. "Sneeze into my open mouth. I want your germs in me. I can't cum without it."

Robert frowned, and stopped moving all together. He pinched his nose, then scrunched it up a few times, but to no avail. "I could go downstairs and get the pepper shaker if you want...?"

Keith started acting really into it. "I need your nose, I have the biggest nose fetish..."

"I feel like this is where I'm obligated to make a joke about Pete Townshend."

Keith broke character for a second to laugh, then quickly regained himself. "I'm sorry, without the nose stuff I just don't think I can do it."

"I always adored your humour," Robert smiled fondly. Fuck, he thought he was joking the whole time. Robert leaned down to kiss Keith again sweetly, then went back to a sexy growl. “Be a good boy for daddy…” 

Keith was tempted to scrap the act all together and let him take over, but unfortunately he was being cockblocked by the ghost of J.R.R Tolkien haunting his web of lies. Keith had to be a good person, didn't he? He started wriggling under Robert. “You’re not even my real dad! I’m calling the police!”

Robert withdrew immediately when he sensed the hesitation. Keith rolled over to the other nightstand for the telephone, and called emergency services. “Hello? Please help, I’ve been kidnapped– “

Robert quickly crawled over and snatched the phone. “It’s just foreplay between two consenting adults, please don’t arrest me, bye.” He hung up quickly. He smoothed his hair back, contemplating. “Oh, I get it, you want to do sexy police officer thing – “

“Wait – “

Robert leapt off the bed and dropped to his knees to pull out a police hat and prop hand cuffs. “You’ve been misbehaving, I’m going to spank you – “

Fuck. “Actually, I think police brutality is a very serious issue,” Keith sat up quickly, dodging being handcuffed. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I consciously satirized a shameful chapter in history of the police state.”

Robert dropped the handcuffs and tossed the police hat aside. “I get it, we’re roleplaying as hippies, we’re at a student protest, the middle of a sultry summer, we just can’t contain our blossoming sexualities in such a tense and charged environment when we’re surrounded by people preaching love – “

Then, the phone rang. 

They both froze in the middle of the room. There was a chance it was the police redialling after a kidnapping threat, which Keith instantly regretted. It rang again. Keith stood there naked. Robert reached for his robe. It rang again. Keith got back into bed, under the covers. After the fourth ring, Robert picked it up. “Hello?”

Keith could hear the yelling all the way from where he was sitting. “Listen here, you disgusting scum of the earth. I know what kind of filth you’re spreading around the streets of our beautiful England, god save. I won’t have this corruption ruining yet another innocent soul….”

Present day:

Jonesy buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god.”

“So you didn’t fuck him?” John asked, suddenly quite invested in Keith’s love life, for no reason whatsoever, of course.

Keith shook his head sadly. “No. Before I knew it he was drawing a bath and Roger was bursting in and carrying me out or whatever.”

“You guys are so dramatic,” Bonzo said quietly. 

“So that’s why he’s still so into you?” Jonesy asked.

Keith nodded. “It’s not even about love, it’s about ownership and his lust for J.R.R Tolkien memorabilia.”

“Memorabilia that you don’t even have,” John reminded him.

“What are you going to do?” Jonesy asked.

Keith quickly flashed Bonzo a look that said, hey why don’t we go find another underground gambling ring to make some quick money and buy a signed book or whatever from some geek ass dad who collects this stuff and wouldn’t part with it unless we mention that we’re the drummers in his estranged son’s favourite rock bands and we’ll take a picture with his son so he looks like a hero and we reunite a family even though I know the photo op would be priceless just like the Tolkien collector’s item but in case you couldn’t tell I just really want to get back into gambling again because I live for cheap thrills to distract me from the dissatisfactions in my life.

Bonzo shot him a look back that said, hell yeah fucking right bitch. 

The rhythm section regrouped with the leads and everyone got extremely bundled up to go skiing as if they were braving the nastiest ice storm in the tundras of Russia or something. The same driver from yesterday was hired to take their equipment and drive them all the way up the mountain to the land that the ski resort owned. 

Once they got through and paid their entry, the gang split up for an afternoon of outdoorsy, masculine, athletic fun. Jimmy and Robert went all the way up to the challenging slopes like it was no big deal. Roger and Pete could handle the modest, average sized slopes. John and Bonzo followed behind them, leaving Keith and Jonesy to the bunny hill for training.

At the bottom of the hill, a perky, middle-aged woman named Rhonda collected a small group of newcomers – various children of assorted ages, an older tourist couple who didn’t speak much English nor Swedish, and two rock stars. 

“Hi everyone! Thank you for joining us today!” Rhonda chirped happily with her thick accent. “I’ll teach you all the basics of skiing and then have you racing down the slopes in no time!”

Keith and Jonesy felt a bit embarrassed being seen learning the childish basics. Nevertheless, they listened to every word of the compelling lecture.

“When your skis are straight like French fries, you will be going super fast! You are saying, yes! I want to zoom all the way down the hill to our chalet restaurant and order our homemade French fries! Yummy!” Rhonda cheered, displaying her parallel French fry skis. Then, she twisted her legs so the skis crossed at the top. “When you make your skis into a pizza like this, you are saying, slow down! I am so full of yummy pizza that I have to go super slow!”

Keith looked over at Jonesy and mouthed, “What the fuck?”

Jonesy furrowed his eyebrows and whispered. “Please, Keith. This is very serious stuff. French fries and pizzas are a matter of life or death.” They both snickered. For a moment, they were getting along. 

Next, Rhonda took them on the terrifying conveyor belt that was actually just the bunny hill’s version of a ski lift. The slow ascent to his inevitable death was making Jonesy very nervous. Luckily, Keith was wobbling around uncontrollably behind him which was pretty funny. When they got to the top, some of the more ambitious kids raced down effortlessly while two stayed behind and cried. Jonesy contemplated joining them, but he also probably needed to keep an eye on Keith. He was already off to harass Rhonda. 

Jonesy shuffled over just as the elderly couple went down together, laughing together as if it wasn’t such an incredibly dangerous sport but whatever. 

“So the French fries are for when I want to go slow?” Keith asked Rhonda.

Rhonda tried to keep her cheery demeanour. “No, sir, French fries are for fast. Pizza is slow. In an emergency you do the pizza and fall backwards on your bum.”

“Got it. Pizza when I want to go fast – “

“No, pizza makes you fat and slow because you are so full – “

“And the French fries when I want to land on my arse?”

Jonesy slid up behind Keith, tugging at his sleeve and sparing poor Rhonda. “Let’s see you go down.”

Keith turned back to look at him. “I still need to brush up on my theory. You show me how it’s done.”

Jonesy looked at both of them, trying not to let on how terrified he was. “I mean sure, yeah, whatever.”

He shuffled very nervously towards where the hill started gently tipping downwards. It wasn’t a big hill at all, and he could clearly see people at the bottom who would help him immediately when he fell and broke his spine and died. He really did not want to do this. Behind him, Keith and Rhonda waited expectantly. The people at the bottom of the hill were watching. The kids waiting to be taught needed a courageous figure to inspire them. He sighed. Jonesy made his skis look like French fries, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. “Lord have mercy.”

“Need a push, buddy?” Keith called from behind him. It sounded a little threatening which spooked him even more.

“Bend your knees! It will be safer in case you fall.” Rhonda added. Good grief. 

If he chickened out, Keith wouldn’t let him live it down. He would probably tell John he was a pussy and of course John would believe Keith over him since they’re so close and everything which definitely wasn’t something he was insecure about. Jonesy bent his knees and kept his eyes smushed closed. “Keith, gimme a push.”

He could hear his heart thudding as Keith’s hands appeared on his back and gave him a kind push. Jonesy curled tightly into a little ball on his French fries and let destiny take over. He couldn’t even see where he was going but opening his eyes would be too terrifying. For the 45 seconds that he was hurtling down the hill, he chanted under his breath, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

He sliced through the chilly air while every survival instinct in his body told him that he was about to die. He probably hadn’t breathed the whole time. And then, he felt it. At the bottom of his belly, surging upwards to his heart. He felt a thrill. Not the thrill from a brief stint in gay stripping. Not just an adrenaline rush from going out of your comfort zone and reaping the benefits. This was a pure, unadulterated thrill; pure and organic, his and only his, because of him and no one else, and the liquid fire in him felt so damn good it was almost pleasurable. Even to the tips of his fingers, he felt alive. 

He opened his eyes at the last second just as a crowd of people at the bottom of the hill scrambled out of his way. In a split second, Jonesy pushed his ankles out into the pizza formation until he slowed down enough to fall backwards on his arse. He fell back on the snow, arms and legs splayed out, and looked up at the white winter sky to catch his breath. The world spun around him, and he was the epicentre of the entire universe. How could he be afraid of anything when life was so profoundly simple? Maybe the only thing to do in life was to just _live_ no matter what the cost, no matter what the vice, because everyone has an expiration date and – 

“Upp du går,” a friendly looking Swedish man extended a hand and helped Jonesy stand up again on his skis. Jonesy brushed the snow off of him and regained his composure, but his whole perspective had been altered. He was a new man now. A stronger man. 

“Jonesy!” Keith called from the top of the bunny hill, because it wasn’t actually that big of a hill anyways. Jonesy turned around to see Keith waving his arms madly to get his attention. Beside him, Rhonda was cheering. Jonesy waved back just as he saw Rhonda giving him a pep talk and getting Keith ready to go down. 

Keith insisted on wiggling himself down the edge, but just as he started sliding down he almost lost his balance and started wobbling around on one ski. Rhonda was shouting to him to bend his knees but Keith’s speed picked up beyond his control. Keith started screaming.

“HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA HELP ME RHONDA HELP HELP ME RHONDA.”

Keith was hurtling full speed towards a picnic table. Jonesy started shouting to him. “Pizza! Keith, use the pizza!”

The other skiiers nearby started shouting too. “Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!”

At the last possible second Keith miraculously pizza’d, fell on his back, and slid. He stopped just in time for the tip of his ski to gently tap the picnic table in front of him. The people sitting there hadn’t noticed him until then. 

Jonesy shuffled over on his skis and helped Keith awkwardly stand up. Keith hadn’t had the same life changing revelation as he did, though. Keith just looked terrified and pissed off.

“You bastards call this shit a sport? No thank you,” he rubbed the elbow he landed on, pouting angrily.

Jonesy laughed. “You did good, though! I’ll go up with you again.”

“Fuck that,” Keith tried to cover up his bruised pride but Jonesy saw right through him. 

Jonesy looked back up behind them at the bunny hill, the one source of his thrill, the beautifully crisp white slope that promised life and adrenaline and another chance for clarity. He looked back at Keith, who looked miserable. He sighed. “Come on, let’s take a break. I’ll get you a hot chocolate.”

At the very top of the highest hill, Robert and Jimmy climbed to a secluded spot to start. The trees were thicker up there, and the paths were narrower. It was certainly as dangerous as it could get, but the two were the perfect images of poise and brave determination. They sat together to clip their skis onto their boots. They adjusted each other’s helmets and goggles. Jimmy took Robert’s hand and squeezed it. “See you at the bottom, darling.”

Robert gave him a mischievous smile before covering his face with his scarf. Jimmy eased back into the familiarity of being on skis, truly his second nature. He looked behind to Robert one last time, and then used his ski poles to launch himself down the double black diamond hill. Right away he swiftly slalomed down the narrow and barely used path, adeptly dodging trees left and right. Robert gave him a good head start before launching right in, too. Jimmy was precise and calculating, deep in his own mind as he moved swiftly. Robert was all fire and adrenaline, having more fun just chasing Jimmy. Robert went his own way with his own strategy until their path widened up. Robert crouched lower to speed up until he could catch up with Jimmy. And once more they were gliding alongside each other in their own corner of the universe, anticipating the other’s next move, always keeping the same speed. They were the only ones who could keep up with the other. They were the only ones who thought the same way, and who could truly race alongside each other. God willing, may they never be separated. 

Somewhere in the middle, Roger, Pete, John and Bonzo were carrying their skis and hiking around. Roger wanted to check out all the different courses at this level, and the others were just having fun hanging out and enjoying the nature. John wanted to take some pictures and hang out, truth be told. But Roger decided that, in fact, these hills weren’t challenging enough so they should take the ski lift and go a bit higher. Everyone else just shrugged; they were pretty much fine with whatever. Roger carried his skis and lead the group forward like a roman gladiator charging into battle, or whatever. 

“Man, it’s so great to get out into the nature and really embrace those survival instincts,” Roger raved on. 

The other three trailed behind him to the ski lift. 

“There’s nothing like the great outdoors and sport with your best mates to make you feel like a real man,” Roger stood proudly with his hands on his hips while they waited their turn.

The operator signalled them forward to take their seats. Pete and Roger sat together, and John and Bonzo got on the next chair behind them.

“I love skiing. I get out any chance I can,” Roger told Pete. “I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve always been a natural. A real athlete, they always said. And they were right. Sports, sex, fights, even performing; I’ve always been a physical guy, totally in tune with my mind and body, adept in my coordination, swift, light on my feet – “

They reached the top of the ski lift. Roger shifted to the edge of his seat and prepared to slide off the chair lift onto the ground again. On his move off the seat, the tip of his right ski caught in the snow. He lurched forward, falling face first into the packed snow. His ankle twisted and broke in two places.

“Oh my god,” Pete jumped off quickly after him, then quickly popped his skis off. He ran over to poor Roger laying in the snow. Someone stopped the ski lift, and John and Bonzo hopped off too, having seen it all.

“Did he just –“ John took off his skis and joined Pete. He tried to supress his laughter. “Did he fucking –“

“He just –“ Pete covered his mouth but his shoulders started shaking and gave him away. “He just wiped the fuck out – “

John abandoned being supportive altogether and started laughing. “We didn’t even get to the hill yet and he just fucking ate it –“

“Oh my god,” Now Pete was laughing, and he and John were clutching each other trying not to lose it. “Rog, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

Bonzo was the only one who got a staff member to come over and help. While the others laughed, Roger sat up slowly, recovering after having the daylights knocked out of him. “I’m okay, just a little tumble, it’s cool.”

Bonzo and the ski lift attendant tried to help him stand up. The second Roger put pressure on his right foot, he screeched at a bat-like high pitch. He composed himself a moment later. “It’s fine, just a little bruise, haha.”

The four of them and the attendant hobbled over to a bench where someone else could check him out. People who worked there, obviously used to this sort of thing, were talking in rapid Swedish into walkie-talkies and helping them get back down to the ground. 

“Guys, I’m fine,” Roger reassured them all.

“Rog, you’re crying,” John said politely.

“It’s just melted snow –“

“Your foot isn’t supposed to be turned that way, mate,” Bonzo said softly. 

Roger shrugged, leaning back on the bench, casually wiping his eyes dry. “Okay, fine, if it’ll help you all relax, I’ll get checked out by a doctor. Then I’ll be back up here hitting the slopes in no time.”

“Of course,” John said, offering a hand to help him up just as ski patrol arrived. They put him back on the ski lift again to go back downhill.

“You’re still very sexy and masculine,” Pete reassured him, sitting beside Roger again with the ski patrol officer on the other side. 

From behind them again, Bonzo called, “There’s still plenty we can all do together even if you can’t go skiing during the day.” Then, he elbowed John beside him. “John, stop laughing.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” John tried to stop smiling. “I promise we won’t tell the others how embarrassing that was.”

Pete had to bite his tongue to stop laughing. “We’ll say you rescued skiing orphans from an avalanche or something.”

At the bottom of the hill, they caused a bit of a scene with all the first aid and safety patrollers waiting for them. Roger tried to play it off casually and walk off, but everyone started swarming him to help.

The ski patrol officer who rode down with them was handed a toboggan from his partner. In weak English, he said, “Sir, please sit.”

“I’m fine, I can walk,” Roger started getting irritated that everyone was watching him.

“Rog, it’s fine, you should just let them take care of you,” Pete insisted under his breath.

“I said I’m fine,” Roger seethed.

“Sir,” the patrol officer started looking uneasy. His voice cracked. “Please sit.”

“How old are you, anyways?” Roger jabbed at the guy. 

The patrol officer shifted on his feet. “Um, seventeen, sir. I am junior ski patrol officer, I am in training…”

“Oh, for the love of god,” Roger looked exasperated. He turned to the others. “I refuse to be pulled on a sled by a kid all because I twisted my ankle a bit –“

Someone started running up to them, calling their names. Everyone turned around to see Jimmy and Robert jogging over to them, carrying their skis. 

Jimmy reached them first. “Is everyone okay?”

“I’m fucking fine, can everyone please stop making a scene?” Roger cried, balancing on his good foot.

“Sir, please sit on the toboggan –“

“Come on, love,” Pete whispered urgently.

“Roger Daltrey, front man of the legendary rock band The Who? Is that you?” Robert joined them a moment later, yelling as loudly as possible. “Did you hurt yourself on the bunny hill?”

“I swear to fucking god,” Roger hopped on one leg, turning to Robert. He prepared to throw a punch, lost his balance, and nearly tumbled again if the 17 year old hadn’t caught him. He fell into his arms like a damsel in distress. 

“Sir, let me help you sit…”

Robert slapped a hand to his forehead. “I was _threatened_!”

Bonzo looked worried. “Please stop fighting…”

John pleaded with Robert to stop yelling, and Pete helped sullen Roger sit down on the sled. It was all very messy and dramatic. 

“Just take my broken body away,” Roger deflated, reduced to being pulled on a little toboggan by a teenager whose voice was still cracking. “I am a useless bag of bones. I have nothing left to live for.”

“Jesus, Rog, come on,” Pete took his hand before he was pulled away. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Don’t look at me, Pete,” Roger sighed. “I don’t want this to be your last memory of me. Just go. Leave…”

John and Bonzo crouched around the toboggan. John patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Just rest up so we can do more cool stuff tomorrow.”

Bonzo smiled down at him. “We’ll all go to the hospital with you.”

Robert shoved his way into the circle. “Guys, guys, I hurt myself too. Actually I think I’m getting sick. I need to be rushed to the hospital, too.”

“Oh, god,” John rolled his eyes.

Jimmy slipped into the circle, too. “You guys stay here, I’ll go with him.”

“Really?” Bonzo said.

“It’s no problem at all,” Pete reassured him.

“No, no, I insist,” Jimmy smiled. “I’ve skied enough in my life, I can sacrifice one afternoon. You go and enjoy it.”

Robert started coughing dramatically. “Jimmy, help, I feel faint…”

The ski patrol officer tried to get their attention. “Um, the car is waiting for us, sirs…”

After a tiny deliberation, everyone agreed to let the two of them go and that they’d all see each other that evening. Jimmy whispered something into Robert’s ear that got him to stop complaining at least, although he still looked sullen. Finally, the (junior) patrol officer started pulling Roger away, and Jimmy followed loyally, trying to lift Roger’s spirits. After an adequate amount of drama for their friend group, the remaining few decided to retire to the ski chalet and see if they could find Keith and Jonesy. 

The main floor of the chalet was filled with people eating and drinking at the restaurant, or renting equipment. Upstairs was a more relaxed area where people relaxed on worn couches and talked by the bookcases that were crammed full of old literature in every language. In the back corner, Jonesy was admiring the snowy view out the window while Keith scowled into a cup of hot chocolate. He looked up and started beaming when he saw John walk in, followed by his dearest friends. Everyone took a spot at the group of couches, settling in and peeling off their hundreds of layers of clothing. 

Jonesy did a quick headcount. “Where are the others?”

Everyone exchanged looks with each other. After a moment, Pete said, “Roger may have broken one of his ankles after saving a hoard of orphans on the hill. It was very dramatic and sexy.”

Jonesy looked concerned. “Are the children okay? Why were they unsupervised?”

“Because they’re orphans,” Pete rolled his eyes. “They don’t have parents who love them and can take them out skiing.”

“To say their parents don’t love them is a bit of a broad claim,” Bonzo defended the various socio-political circumstances where a parent might have to unwillingly give up their child. 

“And Jimmy went with him?” Keith raised an eyebrow. The others nodded. Keith sighed and leaned back on the couch again. “Well, that was brave of Roger. Good for him.”

Robert flinched. He decided to stand up and move to the other end of the couch, squishing himself between John and the arm of the couch to get as close as possible to Keith’s chair. “I’ve rescued orphans before too, Keith.”

Keith slipped back into his performance. He leaned towards Robert, dimming his eyes and murmuring. “Oh, have you? That’s so hot.”

The other four men looked uncomfortable.

“I have a proposition for you,” Robert tilted his head, looking as sultry as possible. “It’s about the thing we were discussing earlier…”

“So, who watched the sports game yesterday?” Bonzo said loudly.

“I did, I watched the sports game,” Pete said. 

Keith leaned in closer. “Does it involve that thing you did with your tongue?”

“There’s nothing like a good sports game,” Jonesy said. 

“I loved the part when they got the point against the other team,” John said.

“Yes, me too. That was also my favourite part of the sports game,” Pete said.

“I was thinking of you, laying on your back, wearing….” Robert leaned in to whisper in Keith’s ear. Then, he pulled away. “While I get on top of you and…” He leaned in and whispered something else. A few seconds in, Keith’s jaw dropped.

Beside Robert, John was starting to get irritated by being squished, but he also felt sympathetic for Keith since he helped put him in that situation all those months ago. “Come on, leave Keith alone. You guys can do that shit later.”

Robert gave John a look. Keith looked relieved. Jonesy looked suspicious at Keith looking relieved at John interrupting Robert. Bonzo noticed Jonesy looking suspicious at Keith looking relieved at John interrupting Robert. Bonzo cleared his throat again. “How was your first time up on the hill, Jonesy?”

“Oh, um,” Jonesy sat up, remembering the thrill, remembering that amazingly addictive feeling of pure adrenaline… “It was fun.”

John smiled. He stretched to look over Robert’s giant curly head to Keith. “What did you think, Keith?”

Keith’s smile faded, and Jonesy chimed in quickly. “He was even better than me. I was so nervous the whole time.” Keith looked away, and smiled.

John got distracted between his favourite people again. “Aw, really? It’s not so scary after a few times down. I’ll come with you if you want.”

The other four rolled their eyes.

Jonesy sat up straighter, feeling more confident. “I’d like that.”

Keith frowned. “Well, go on then. Don’t let me hold you both back.”

The comment that was probably alluding to something much deeper was promptly dismissed. John and Jonesy gathered their things and got dressed to go out again, a little more eager than they should be.

With John gone, Pete quickly squished in next to Robert. “Oh look, it’s just us now, isn’t it?”

Robert turned to Pete and looked at him lovingly. “I have something for you later, too. But do give Keith and I some privacy for a moment please, darling.”

Pete frowned. “Uh.”

Bonzo stood up, digging for his wallet in his jacket pocket. “C’mon, Pete. Let’s get lunch downstairs.”

Reluctantly, Pete left the Robert and Keith behind. At least he still had Bonzo.

When they were alone, Robert turned serious. “You said you had something for me, yeah?”

Keith scratched his face. “I don’t have any memorabilia yet. I was, uh, wondering what you wanted.”

Robert grinned. “I made a list. Primarily if you can get anything Tolkien used every day, like the fountain pen he used to write The Simarillion drafts, or the reading glasses his optometrist Dr. Ethan Browne prescribed him to wear from 1957-1959, or his Swiss army knife…”

“How do you know all this?” Keith said, then quickly laughed to cover it up. “I mean, he’s my own great uncle, and even I didn’t know about such trivial things.”

“Keith, please, this is very important,” Robert looked insistent. “Jimmy said it’s the last thing he needs to summon him on the pentagram –“

“Sorry, what?”

“Never mind that. I need it, Keith,” Robert took his hand urgently. “I need…. _you_ …”

Keith swallowed quickly, both to keep his arousal at bay and to cover his oncoming nervousness about the situation he got himself into. “Y’know, there isn’t really a lot of that stuff left. Between estate sales and donations to museums and archives and all that, my great-aunt doesn’t have a lot of his stuff left at her house.”

“If you need a little motivation, I’m sure I can arrange that when we get a chance to be home alone,” Robert murmured.

“Um,” Keith crossed his legs quickly. “How about you let me fuck you anyways, and if I don’t find anything cool for you when we get back to London we’ll just call it all off and have a good laugh about it?”

Robert chuckled kindheartedly. “Oh, you funny boy. I bet you have something set aside for me in secret, don’t you? I know you wouldn’t back out of an agreement like that.”

Keith laughed nervously. 

Meanwhile, John and Jonesy had just safely gotten off the chairlift like normal people do, without accident. They were at the beginner’s hills, but Jonesy was still intimidated by the height. 

“John,” Jonesy tugged at his coat sleeve. “Nothing too big, yeah?”

John smiled at him fondly. “Don’t worry.” He guided them over to the smallest of the slopes, which was straightforward and not too steep, separated into two hills. Jonesy still had the technique fresh in his mind, but he was worried about how much more space there was to potentially crash and die. 

Or, reach another stage of enlightenment. 

Jonesy pulled up to the edge of the slope, and he felt a lot better since he borrowed Bonzo’s ski poles. He even looked more like a pro. John set up beside him. “Do you want me to go first so I can meet you at the bottom?”

Jonesy nodded. He always felt safe when John lead the way for them. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Just remember to start slowing down before you reach the very bottom of the hill,” John reminded him.

“Right. The pizza.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“Alright,” John ignored it and smiled. It made Jonesy blush. “You’ll do just great.”

With his usual alluring confidence, John took off with no problem and sailed down with ease. Jonesy grinned to himself, and suddenly it didn’t seem so bad. Without hesitation, Jonesy turned his skis into French fries, bent his knees, and used his ski poles to lift off. There was a moment of panic just as he started picking up speed into the point of no return, but once he found his centre of balance, Jonesy was able to crouch even more to go faster than he’d ever been. It felt like the blood in his veins were on fire. His heart raced. He was more alive than he’d ever felt in that moment. He kept his sights set on John ahead of him, chasing him like they loved to do in their Europe wide game of cat and mouse. Ahead of him, John started slowing down to come to a clean stop at the bottom of the hill. Jonesy slid his skis out to stop too, but he wasn’t used to that speed before. He was coming to a messy, skidding stop. John was waiting for him, and moved to the side so he could catch Jonesy before he fell.

“You did it!” John congratulated him, laughing.

Jonesy needed to catch his breath before he could say anything. He looked up at John into his tender, all knowing eyes. His strong hands holding him securely. The adrenaline rushing through his veins didn’t show any signs of stopping. Jonesy’s pulse raced, his eyes were blown wide open. He blurted out suddenly. “I want you.”

John searched his eyes, a hopeful grin on his face. “Right now?”

“No one will be home for another few hours,” Jonesy said breathlessly.

John blinked. He unclipped his skis, then Jonesy’s. They scooped up their gear sloppily and made a giddy, mad dash back to Robert's chalet.


	4. because, y'know, that's me...

When they first decided to start secretly seeing each other, John and Jonesy were both enthusiastic and had fun with each other, but there was always something that just didn’t work out properly.

The first instance anything serious happened was when John rang Jonesy up to invite him to see a blues band playing a few towns over. John had seen one of the members already and thought although the band was young, they had a lot of potential. They got dressed up nicely and John picked his date up in his fanciest car. They had a lovely time at the show, had a few drinks, and then had some more, and somehow made it back to Jonesy’s. Maybe John should come in for a bit until he sobered up. But on second thought, Jonesy had bought a bottle of wine yesterday and he was in the mood to try it…

One glass each, and John had already lifted Jonesy on the granite kitchen counter and was kissing him deeply. Jonesy had his arms wound around John’s shoulders, and was absentmindedly combing John’s hair back. It had just started to rain outside, and together they were warm and safe. Now that they were in total privacy for the first time, they could truly relax. They were tender with each other. Each touch was loving.

Another glass each, and John touched with more intention. Jonesy made more noise. They moved to the couch. 

They both agreed to fuck it, neither of them had any plans tomorrow morning. They finished the bottle and cracked open another. John started to loosen Jonesy’s tie and unbutton his shirt. “You never showed me your bedroom.”

“Upstairs, down the hall, second on the left,” Jonesy managed between kisses. He gave a lopsided, drunken grin. “Why, are you getting tired?”

“Nice one,” They chuckled nervously together, and John kissed down his neck. “C’mon baby, I want you.” Jonesy stiffened a little, and then laughed nervously some more. John pulled away. “Everything ok?”

“I just…” Jonesy sat up a little. “I’ve never been into calling people ‘baby’. Or being called it myself. I’m not an actual baby. I’m like…a grown man, y’know?”

John blinked a few times through the haze of the alcohol. He scratched the side of his nose. “It’s not an actual like…okay, yeah, never mind. It’s cool. How about just ‘babe’?”

Jonesy wrinkled his nose and it was super cute. “It reminds me of Robert,” he reached over and started pulling at John’s shirt. “And he’s not who I want to be thinking about right now...”

John pulled him in closer. “I feel like calling you ‘Jonesy’ during hot passionate sex is a little cheesy. But I can’t call you John because, y’know, that’s me…”

The two of them sat there, at a loss for what to say, but they both blamed it on bring so drunk. The heat had already dissipated. John grabbed the second bottle of wine and drank from it while he meandered across the living room to Jonesy’s shelves and shelves of records. He used his index finger to follow the titles of each record, looking for the particular one that would save the night. “Look at you. You’ve alphabetized your whole collection.”

Jonesy perched on the back of the couch, watching him. “I have a lot of free time, I guess.”

“I’ll take care of that,” John hummed. Jonesy blushed.

It took him a few minutes, but John pulled out the vinyl he wanted. He put the bottle of wine aside, put the record on, turned on the stereo, and let it play. He hurried back to the couch and stood on the coffee table in front of Jonesy. 

Luckily, Jonesy was drunk enough to laugh, burying his face in his hands. “What are you doing?”

_“Ah, I love the colourful clothes she wears…”_

“No!” Jonesy laughed harder. 

_“…and the way the sunlight plays upon her hair…”_

John, quite drunk and feeling a flair for the dramatics, started seductively pulling his blazer off even more ridiculous and goofy than the last time they stripped.

_“I hear the sound of a gentle word on the wind that lifts her perfume through the air…”_

“What are your rates?” Jonesy shouted over the music, teasing. He sat back on the couch, legs splayed open.

_“I’m picking up good vibrations…”_

“I’m a seasoned professional, straight from sin city,” John tossed his undone tie down to Jonesy, and worked on his own shirt. “Six million an hour.”

_“She’s giving me excitations….”_

“I’m afraid I left my wallet in my other jacket,” Jonesy caught his tie and folded it neatly so it wouldn’t get wrinkled. “I do have leftover takeaway in my fridge, though.”

John froze in the middle of unbuckling his trousers. “Actually, do you mind? I’m hungry again.”

Jonesy grinned. “Thank god, I’m starving too.”

John stepped off the coffee table and gave a hand to help Jonesy up, who was so drunk he wobbled on his feet. They raided the fridge and ate, drunkenly and happily. They took turns choosing the records, playing them at full blast. After midnight, they both fell asleep together on the couch, cuddling happily. And that was that.  
Both bands started recording in different cities soon after, but they often found time to meet up somewhere in the middle for lunch. They dined like kings and avoided paparazzi when they could by getting exclusive tables on the upper floors, reserved for the celebrities who were so famous they were in the papers every week. Such as themselves. 

The two of them were both in the middle of creative periods, and over luxurious meals they could escape from the sleazy rock scene for a few hours and talk about literature, fine art, old school jazz and blues, politics, music theory, their dreams, ambitions… it was a refreshing time, even if only for a few hours. Sometimes it was the only thing John looked forward to so he could survive another week cooped up in the recording studio. The others were always suspicious of how each other them respectively rushed off for a few hours at a time for a lunch engagement, although they always suspected it was their counterpart they were always off to see.

And yet, something still didn’t fit together. 

“We’re planning another huge U.S tour,” Jonesy confided to him privately across the white clothed table at a restaurant usually frequented by royalty and politicians. Their rock and roll garb made them stand out, and they got dirty side glances from other patrons. The two of them relaxed, enjoying coffee and a small dessert knowing that they were richer than anyone else there. “But I’m hoping things will settle down after that. I’ve had this idea for a huge solo project that I’m just itching to start. But I said I wouldn’t get distracted with it while the band is still in this huge push, but I’m anxious to get started. It’s this huge opera, you see. I know it’ll take a few years to compose, but I want to get someone to stage it eventually, and maybe I can even get a hand in directing it for the stage…”

John smiled fondly over his cup of coffee. “You sound just like P– “ He stopped himself suddenly as he realized what he was saying.

“Hm?” Jonesy smiled. 

“Nevermind that. You were saying?” John nervously added more sugar to his coffee, stirring it in thoroughly. Everything he wanted was right in front of him. So why was he still distracted? They said all those years ago that it wasn’t going to work out, they said they wouldn’t try it, they’d be kicked out of their houses if their parents found them together…

“What do you think?” Jonesy asked, looking at him expectantly.

John looked up suddenly. “Yes, I completely agree with you. It makes the most sense.”

Jonesy smiled with relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I was hoping it wasn’t too outlandish of an idea…”

Schedules tightened. Once a week they could manage an hour or two together if they planned strategically. Jonesy liked the idea of spontaneous fucking, but he thought a quickie in a washroom stall was unsanitary, and the back of a taxi was too risky, so they rarely got time alone together. John patiently waited. When they finally had a few hours at an empty flat, the weather was changing and the pollen count was high that day. John couldn’t stop sneezing every few minutes, and his eyes were itchy and watering. Jonesy made him soup and they napped together until they both had to leave. 

It was nearly a month later until they had a night together in privacy. John came over that afternoon and they didn’t waste any time. Thankfully the sexual frustration had been built up in both of them. John was on his knees blowing Jonesy on the carpeted staircase because they couldn’t wait to get upstairs. Of course, just as Jonesy’s back arched and he started gripping onto the bars of the railing, the phone rang. They were calling his house, too, so it was a personal call he couldn’t ignore. They angrily pried themselves off of each other. Jonesy stood up, his legs still wobbly, and he tugged his boxers back up. John rarely saw Jonesy frustrated or angry, but he certainly was fed up now. He dashed down the staircase, dodging their clothes strewn on the stairs up the hallway, and answered the phone on the last ring. “Who the f – oh, hello, mum…”

John pulled on his boxers too and crept down the stairs, careful not to make any noise. He felt like teasing to lighten the mood, so he tried to wind his arms around his waist, but Jonesy swatted his hands away while he kept talking into the phone, his voice pinched in an attempt to remain polite while still painfully erect. “No, mum, I’m sorry I haven’t phoned…yes, it’s just work…no, I’ve got a friend over, is all. I don’t want to be a bad host.”

John flopped down on the couch dramatically. Jonesy pressed his finger to his lips. “No, mum, just _a friend_. No, it’s not a girl. Mum, can I just call you back tomorrow?”

John sighed as Jonesy bickered on the phone with his mother for a few more minutes, then hung up more frustrated than he was before the call. “I swear to god...”

“What do you wanna do now?” John asked gently as Jonesy sat on the arm of the couch, clearly troubled about something.

“Do you want to order a pizza?” Jonesy moped.

“Yeah, pizza’s good.”

So, for the rest of the night, they ate pizza in front of the TV in their boxers. They talked about family troubles, love and relationships, their friends, their fears, their insecurities, their hopes, and their dreams. They could only confide in each other about such things; they didn’t trust anyone else as fully and completely. 

After that, it was always Jonesy hesitating or finding excuses to wait a bit longer. That was the first time John considered distancing himself a bit – he too felt the sting of rejection over and over again. He wanted to trust his gut when he believed something wasn’t working, but he so badly wanted things to work out with Jonesy. John was hoping, now that they had Robert’s chalet all to themselves for at least another few hours, things could finally progress between them. Jonesy did seem so willing lately. The door was locked, the curtains were pulled, and the area was so secluded and quiet that they could hear a car approaching from a mile away. 

John finished lighting a fire in the fireplace and fixing it to burn for a long time without their constant attention. Behind him, Jonesy had pushed the coffee table aside and constructed a love nest on the floor, enclosed by the couches. They used all the giant quilts and pillows to make it as comfy as possible while they were warmed by the fire. The lights were dimmed. Before they settled in, John fetched the bottle of scotch he brought with him, and two glasses. He poured for the two of them, and they cozied up together in front of the fire. 

They talked, they drank, they shared a cigarette. 

The glasses now abandoned and their visions blurred, John crept his hand up Jonesy’s thigh under the blankets. The small chalet was starting to gather the heat from the fire. Jonesy allowed himself to sink into John’s arms. John kissed him with determination, but it still wasn’t established if they would be making love or just fucking. John soon became lost in his head, planning everything too much, and he forgot to feel and have fun with it. So much was at stake; it would be Jonesy’s first time, he wanted to make it really good. 

Jonesy, too, had been lost in his own head. Straight from the slopes, he was inspired to try things that scared him because he knew now that the thrill of overcoming such things was gorgeously satisfying. Even Robert’s words echoed in his head from the other day. _He’s such a painfully straight edged guy. He doesn’t allow himself to have fun, like he thinks he needs to strictly regulate himself, but if you ask me he’s just saving himself for nothing. God, you’ve got to live a little, you know?_

Jonesy reached for the bottle of scotch they left on the couch, and took another burning swig for the courage. He held it to John’s lips for a drink too. He finally understood why John drank so much in the first place. Jonesy capped the bottle and tossed it back on the couch. It was just like bringing himself to the edge of the hill. Sometimes that was the scariest part.

Jonesy crawled onto John’s lap. He fumbled with the buttons on John’s shirt but managed to get it off. He rushed to take his own shirt off, and John placed a strong, steadying hand on his lower back. Jonesy remembered to slow down. He snaked his hand down John’s trousers and touched him just like he was taught to. He did it well. John groaned, and gripped his bare hips harder. John kissed down his neck. It was all right there in front of him, all he had to do was make the first move. It was romantic and meaningful and loving and everything he ever wanted. So what was holding him back?

Jonesy let out a sigh to relax himself, and tried again. He let John manhandle him a little because they both quite liked it. He allowed himself to be pinned down with his arms above his head. The blankets around them were soft and the fire warmed his skin as John stripped him totally naked. He could trust John’s touch, his expertise. But there was a disconnect somewhere there. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but the look in John’s eyes was faraway like he was lost in thought. A thousand accusations were flung around in Jonesy’s mind. Maybe he was just planning his next move so it would be good for both of them, since they deeply cared for one another. Or maybe John was thinking about someone else, wishing things had been different, wishing Jonesy could be better or skinnier or more muscular or shorter or taller or a different coloured hair or a bigger nose. Insecurity and worry choked themselves up in Jonesy’s chest. He sat up quickly. 

Now he couldn’t decipher the look in John’s eyes. “Everything ok?”

Jonesy brushed his hair out of his eyes. He was suddenly at a loss for words. “I’m nervous.”

“That’s alright,” John coaxed Jonesy back into his arms, rubbing his bare shoulders lovingly. “We can take all the time you need.”

Jonesy allowed himself to relax, resting his head against John’s chest. “I don’t think I should do this right now.” Immediately the genuine tenderness in John’s touch disappeared. He eased Jonesy off of his chest, and Jonesy went into full blown panic that he had said the wrong thing and would lose John forever. He started improvising. “I mean, I’m too drunk, the scotch is upsetting my stomach…”

“Just…stop,” John stood up and reached for the pile of their clothes. There was something terrifying in his composure, because that meant he was truly angry. “This isn’t working out. I don’t think you’re actually ready for any of this.”

Jonesy scrambled up too, wrapping himself in a blanket. “Just give me some more time, I can do it…”

“No, forget it,” John started putting his clothes back on and it was heartbreaking. “Something just isn’t working. I’m tired of trying when clearly this is going nowhere.”

“John, I’m sorry, we can do it, I’m ready…”

“Don’t worry about it,” John muttered, struggling for sincerity as he stuffed his feet into his boots forcefully, threw on his coat and hat, and walked out the door. 

Jonesy felt rotten, absolutely rotten, and the scotch wasn’t helping either. He scrambled to clean up before anyone else came home and started asking questions. Jonesy was guilty as anything, then he started blaming himself for it all, and replaying the conversation in his head, and he was already scripting his apology when he heard a car roll up the hill. Jonesy scrambled into the bedroom and dressed himself quickly, making it look like he just woke up from a nap as all his friends came bounding in the front door. 

“Hullo,” Jonesy murmured, faking a yawn in the doorway to the bedroom. Robert had an arm around Pete, and they were giggling. Oddly, Keith’s face lit up when he saw Jonesy. 

“Jonesy! My beautiful friend! There you are!” Keith cried, suspiciously overjoyous. “We’ve come to collect you so we can go out and do that thing we agreed to earlier, remember? Tell Robert we had something planned so I can’t stay in with him tonight.”

Jonesy crossed his arms over his chest, turning to Robert. “Sorry, Robert. Keith said he was going to buy me dinner tonight in town.” And just like that, he hurt yet another person. He just beheaded another romance. Left it dead on arrival. He was the ruiner of dreams, the destroyer of hope – 

Robert and Pete exchanged a dramatic look, and Pete broke off to search for a bottle of wine in the kitchen cupboard. Robert smiled devilishly, and everyone was off the hook. “Have fun, boys. Pick up some dinner for me on the way back, will you?” Pete returned with the bottle, and they both hurried off to the first bedroom, shutting the door tightly. 

Keith leaned back against the kitchen counter with a giant sigh. “Okay. We’re clear.”

“I have a feeling we might wanna give them some space,” Bonzo scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “We were gonna go into town and explore a bit, do you want to come with us, Jonesy?”

Keith rolled his eyes. Jonesy shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t have anything better to do, I guess.”

Bonzo frowned. “Are you doing okay?”

Everyone needed to stop asking him that. Jonesy went to get his boots and coat on. “Yeah, I’m fine. Still a little tired, is all.”

“Where’s John?” Keith asked, smiling.

They headed back to the car, where a driver seemed to always be conveniently waiting for them. They drove into town now that it was almost completely dark out. They found a nice restaurant and got seated right away. Everyone was starving. 

The three of them longed for a long wooden pub table and their favourite English beers, but instead they were given a nice white tablecloth and water in fine crystal. They must have been the biggest celebrities to ever set foot in the little restaurant. The whole town seemed quite eager to welcome them.

“We had a bit of a lover’s quarrel,” Jonesy moped, tracing his finger over the rim of his cup absentmindedly. They spoke in hushed tones. All the locals in the restaurant were politely watching them out of the corner of their eyes, utterly star struck, but too shy to swarm them. 

“Don’t you have to actually be sleeping together to be lovers?” Keith smirked. Jonesy nearly shrieked. 

“Keith! Be nice,” Bonzo snapped. 

“Sorry,” Keith sipped at his drink, void of any sincerity.

“Did John tell you about that?” Jonesy whispered in disbelief.

Keith shrugged, still looking coolly. “He tells me everything. We’re best friends.”

Jonesy’s stomach just kept falling and falling. Bonzo was the only one who looked sympathetic.

“Come on now, we don’t have to talk about that unless you want to,” Bonzo assured him. 

Jonesy buried his face in his hands. “I just keep fucking it up. I should just put out already so John will love me again and take me back.”

Keith was about to say something, and Bonzo kicked his foot under the table. “Why are you feeling hesitant?” Bonzo asked.

Jonesy shrugged. “I’m getting anxious because I can’t figure out why it’s making me anxious. He’s everything I want and need. He protective, sexy, and he takes care of me. But it’s all on me, I just can’t do it for some reason. The whole thing just scares me.”

They remained quiet as a waitress came by and took their orders. Once she left earshot, Bonzo leaned across the table. “May I offer my opinion?”

Jonesy nodded mournfully. Keith sucked on his straw as loudly and as obnoxiously as possible.

“You both could benefit from a little space. You can stick around with me while you figure things out,” Bonzo smiled gently. “I’ll take care of you.”

Jonesy smiled back. There was a hell of a lot of emotions that the poor guy experienced all in one day, and he was still a little drunk. He was getting overwhelmed that he even had a friend to protect him like that. He tried not to get weepy in the middle of the restaurant. 

Keith eyed the two of them suspiciously.

“Keith, would you like to spend more time with John and act as a buffer?” Bonzo instructed. “There’s only room for petty, surface level drama on this trip.”

“No problemo,” Keith rolled his eyes. “That’s all I’m good for these days, isn’t it?”

An awkward silence fell over them as the waitress returned with appetizers. 

“Keith, is there something you’d like to talk about, too?” Bonzo asked gently, apparently playing therapist for the day. “With all due respect, you seem a bit testy with everyone lately.”

Keith bitterly ate his salad. “The usual. I’m miserable and unsatisfied with life.”

“You have everything,” Jonesy remarked just as bitterly drinking his soup. “Fame, fortune, glory, groupies, and John Entwistle. You walk down the street, and people know your name and your face. What more could you want?”

Even more bitter, Keith aggressively ate a crouton. “Isn’t there more to life than money and a successful career? Where’s the joy and fulfillment? Where’s the warmth? The drive, the purpose? What’s the last thing that’s going to fill that void in your gut when you go home after a party to an empty house and unwashed dishes? Are they going to invent another pill for that? A stronger drink? Let me know if you find it, because I’ve tried fucking everything.”

Another tense silence fell. They ate.

“How are you doing, Bonzo?” Keith asked.

Bonzo nervously folded and unfolded his napkin. “I’m doing okay, I guess. Just trying to survive.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, eating silently. 

“It’s hard out here for a bitch,” Jonesy said quietly, echoing Keith’s words. “I suppose at the end of the day we’re all just trying to find someone who’ll be there for us when we get home.”

Keith raised his glass, then Bonzo joined, then Jonesy. “Here’s to finding someone who can give us emotional support and unlimited orgasms.”

“Amen,” they all chorused, and drank. 

Speaking of;

“Give it to me, I want it,” Pete moaned into Robert’s neck. “I _need_ it.”

“You’ve been so good, keeping our little secret,” Robert purred. “Maybe I will reward you after all.”

“Please,” Pete whispered. “I’ve been so good for you…”

Robert kissed Pete on his open mouth, long and filthy. Then, he peeled himself away and off the bed, on his knees to search under the bed. He pulled out a carefully concealed and heavily locked wooden box. “Do you want my 45 or my 33?”

Pete sprawled out on the bed seductively, thoughtfully chewing on a finger. “I want the biggest you’ve got.”

“Good choice, my precious little thing,” Robert smiled warmly. He quickly spun the lock combination, assembled the puzzle pieces, connected the dots, solved the Rubik’s cube, input his thumbprint, and pressed a series of latches and switches very casually. The box unlocked, and he opened it carefully. He put on the white cloth gloves and unwrapped the paper to pull out his ultra rare, limited edition original pressing of ‘Love To Love You Baby’. He placed it delicately on the portable record player he smuggled along with them. They were operating under tense circumstances, after all.

It only too a few seconds of the intro for Pete to sigh with relief. “She’s my _queen_.”

“God save,” Robert smiled forlornly out the window. The title track was sixteen minutes and forty-nine seconds long, and Donna Summer had just started moaning. Robert turned around slowly, his hair falling elegantly over his shoulder. 

For the entirety of side 1, they dimmed the lights and let completely loose; they danced in the tiny bedroom, free to be sensual and sleazy, feminine and ethereal, existing only at the cusp of pure pleasure. When they got to side 2, they joined together in a rush of heat, mouths pressing together and greedy hands grabbing. Like any good junkies, they took what they could get when they could get it. While left alone and to their own devices, Robert and Pete dove headfirst into their pleasure of choice, doubly turned on by the thrill of knowing they could get caught at any moment if someone walked into the chalet. 

In the heart of the sweet little Swedish town, Jimmy and Roger spent an agonizing amount of time travelling to a small doctor’s office but were seen immediately upon their arrival. Jimmy politely dismissed the ski patrol team and thanked them for their help. Poor Roger was still embarrassed and insisted on hobbling around on his own, and Jimmy followed closely behind him just in case. The receptionist spoke some English, and blushed deeply when she handed Jimmy a clipboard of forms to fill out. She was nearly drooling watching Jimmy’s long fingers move while he wrote with a ballpoint pen. Stuck sitting in the waiting area, Roger was even angrier that he wasn’t getting a hot Swedish receptionist drool over him. 

Only minutes later, a gorgeous Swedish doctor helped Roger into a room at the end of the hallway to be examined. Jimmy followed loyally, also not wanting to distract the lust-filled receptionist from her work. The doctor, who was way too handsome for his own good, tried to ease Roger’s boot off of his foot while Roger howled with pain. Jimmy tried to hold his hand for emotional support but Roger just kept digging his nails into Jimmy’s hand which was kind of hot and this whole doctor’s office experience brought more sexual frustration than it really should have.

“You’ve got yourself a nasty lateral malleolus fracture, Mr. Daltrey,” Dr. Handsomeface frowned after extensive poking around and tests and X-Rays. “When you fell off the ski lift – “

“He didn’t fall off the ski lift, he was saving orphans,” Jimmy interrupted. “Sorry. Go on.”

“Pardon me,” Dr. Handsomeface apologized. He started rummaging around his office cupboards while Roger’s eyes continued to leak in pain. He came back with a bag of ice that he rested on Roger’s swollen ankle. “When you suffered the fracture, you broke two small bones. But by some random stroke of luck, the broken pieces are significantly smaller than the ankle joint itself, which tells us that we can treat it without surgery.”

For a moment, Roger was given enough hope to carry on with life. He turned to Jimmy, triumphant. “Aha! I told you I was fine. You were all overreacting.”

The doctor chimed in again. “Ah, I must clarify. You still need a cast so we can set the bones back in place. I’d also advise you not to put any weight on that foot for about six weeks – that means no skiing, and no physical activity aside from walking. We still encourage you to explore our beautiful town, but perhaps just a bit slower.”

“Good fucking Lord,” Roger wailed, burying his face in his hands again. The doctor left to prepare while the sultry receptionist stood in the doorway, chewing suggestively on her pen while holding intense eye contact with Jimmy. 

Jimmy moved to sit with Roger on the examination table. He put a hand on his shoulder. “There, there. It’s not the end of the world.”

“It is! I’ll be five steps behind everyone at all times, I won’t be able to do anything, or see anything, or achieve anything, or experience love or divinity or a higher purpose in life – “

“You can still do all those things,” Jimmy spoke soothingly. While they were alone in the office momentarily, Jimmy rubbed his back lovingly. “You’ll just be on crutches for a few weeks, is all.”

Jimmy retracted his hand quickly as the doctor and an otherworldly beautiful nurse came back in with a rolling cart full of the materials they needed to make a cast. They set up in front of Roger and started binding his ankle right away.

“Are you trying to tell me…” Roger winced in pain with all the extra handling of his rapidly bruising ankle. “…that I’ve been disadvantaged so I can slow down and really appreciate life at a different pace and perhaps make peace with my inner turmoil and finally have some meaningful character development?”

Jimmy nodded. “It was in the subtext, yeah.”

“You might benefit from a change of pace from your usual rock and roll lifestyle,” Dr. Handsomeface chuckled warmly, thus confirming that he was a fan of them both this whole time. “It’s just like my favourite author, J.R.R Tolkien, said: ‘Little by little, one travels far’...”

Jimmy eventually meandered back to the reception area where he asked the receptionist to use the phone so he could call for their car. The receptionist handed him more discharge papers, with her number written on a scrap of paper clipped to the front page.

“Jag vill ha dig så illa, jag behöver din kropp mot mig,” The woman whispered rapidly to him. “Bara säg ordet och jag ska avsluta jobbet för dig och vi kan springa bort medan jag suger din weiner så hårt att du—“

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jimmy whispered back. “In this form, do you want the name of my health insurance provider, or just the type of coverage I buy?”

“Both, if possible,” she whispered. 

“Thank you,” Jimmy also whispered.

Their car arrived outside just as it started to get dark out. Jimmy hated inefficiency so he figured out all the paperwork so they could go home the moment Roger hobbled out on crutches, worn out and angry. Jimmy hurried everything along and got Roger in the back of the car as quickly as possible to avoid even more frustration. 

Once Jimmy crammed his long legs into the back along with Roger, they took off for the drive up the mountain back to the chalet. 

“Thanks again for helping me with all this,” Roger grumbled quietly but sincerely. “And thanks for taking care of the bill.”

“Don’t you worry,” Jimmy smiled kindly, trying to reassure Roger in any way so he could get back to normal. “You just rest for now. When we get back home I’ll make you something for dinner.”

“Why are you being so kind to me?” Roger started wailing again.

“You and Robert are so similar, it’s easy taking care of you both,” Jimmy meant it affectionately, but now Roger was shrieking unintelligibly. Jimmy tried to take his hand. “No, no, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I just mean – “

“How dare you! We hate each other. Again.” Roger cried. Jimmy smiled apologetically to the driver whose eardrums certainly had been burst by now.

“I know, I know,” Jimmy decided not to press it any farther. It seems his secret plan would have to wait… “Do forgive me.”

“I guess,” Roger frowned. When they reached the property, Jimmy helped Roger through the snow on his crutches while the driver carried their things through the front door and left promptly. They had just gotten through the door when they were met with a sudden dead silence. Robert popped his head out of the bedroom door. Above him, Pete stuck his head out, too.

“Oh, you’re home!” Robert smiled.

“What were you two doing?” Roger abandoned the wilting flower attitude and was filled again with rage. 

“No, no, don’t worry darling, it’s not what it looks like,” Pete told him. “We were just having hot passionate sex behind your back, nothing to worry about.”

Still unused to the crutches, Roger took an embarrassingly long time crossing the small room to barge into the bedroom. Robert and Pete allowed him in so they didn’t look suspicious. Roger examined every inch of the room but couldn’t find any evidence – Robert and Pete had cleared the record player and the vinyl the moment they heard the car approaching. 

“The bedsheets are too nicely arranged,” Roger noted. Jimmy waited anxiously in the doorway. 

“We finished ages ago and already cleaned up,” Pete waved a dismissive hand. “Roger, darling, how are you feeling? You should be resting. Let me take care of you, my big, strong, handsome man…”

Roger was getting fed up with everyone patronizing him and trying to take care of him all the damn time, but the sour look on Robert’s face when Pete started easing Roger back down onto the bed made it all worth it. 

“Close the door on your way out, will you?” Roger smiled at Robert while Pete started combing back his hair, massaging his shoulders, kissing him…

Jimmy quickly ushered Robert out of the bedroom, shut the door, and pulled him into the kitchen. 

“I can’t stand him,” Robert huffed dramatically. He leaned back against the counter with a hand to his forehead. 

“I know, baby.”

“I’m just trying to enlighten Peter. He shouldn’t have to hide his lifestyle in the shadows like that.”

“You’re absolutely right, my love.”

“But life is so much sexier when you’re hiding something scandalous like that, or homewrecking an ambiguously romantic partnership.”

“I completely agree with you, my dearest angel.”

Robert sighed, then turned to rest his head on Jimmy’s shoulder. “At least I’ll always have you.”

Jimmy wrapped an arm around his waist. He murmured into Robert’s curly hair. “How’s the side-plan with Keith going?”

“Not well,” Robert frowned. “I don’t know why he’s so hesitant. I need to amp up the stakes. I need to offer him something better.”

“One night with you is already worth so much,” Jimmy added. “Just give him time. We want to make sure he gets you something authentic like you agreed.”

“Then we can’t let him get distracted. Make sure he doesn’t hang around with John so much,” Robert plotted. “He should be with our band as much as possible so we can warm him up to our plan.”

Jimmy smiled. “Brilliant plan. Once we get our hands on that piece of memorabilia, then we can complete the ritual…”

They exchanged devilish looks. Jimmy told himself his own secret plan would have to be worked silently in the background. Their faces fell when they heard suspicious noises coming from the bedroom. They quickly started pulling out pots and pans to start cooking and drown out the background noise. 

Meanwhile, John was walking in the cold, dark Swedish night with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his anger keeping him warm enough to survive the long journey into town by foot. He was feeling pretty damn sick of it all lately. It started with Jonesy being gorgeous and alluring, and then Jonesy telling him he wanted more and that he wanted to be romantic. Except he didn’t like holding hands in public, and shied away when things got too serious and committal. John gave him every chance to walk away if he was unhappy, and yet Jonesy kept insisting it was what he wanted until the next time and he blushed and became unsure again. John was repulsed with himself for still liking Jonesy so much despite all that, although now he was starting to get angry at Jonesy for stringing him along with that. There was no way that Jonesy was just innocently undecided after all these months. Surely he was just being malicious at this point. 

John still had further to walk, and his problems were extending past his total joke of a relationship. Recording with the band was frustrating as ever, and the Who were in yet another wave of popularity, yet John was still the least important member of the group. He was often disregarded and left out of interviews or not given time to speak on television appearances. His friends, as much as he loved them, enjoyed their own spotlight too much to share some with him. His solo work was only getting a modest amount of success from his most loyal fans when he knew that with the right attention he would be so much bigger. And worst of all, when he wanted to talk to someone about this, Pete was holed up in his studio hammering away and making more music, or Keith was more interested in entertaining groupies, or worse: Robert Plant. 

As a whole, John was feeling gross and miserable and criminally underappreciated. He would allow himself to sulk for one evening before telling himself to move on the next morning. But tonight, he would treat himself to a drink. And tonight, he was also about to be the subject of a divine intervention. Again. 

Once he finally made it into town, John had worked up an appetite and wanted a pint to drown his sorrows in. Along the street where the nightlife was just starting to warm up, John found himself drawn to a small tavern with a group of people huddled together by the door. John walked past them to open the door and go inside. Everyone’s heads shot up in the huddle, and they started speaking incredulously. At the time John hadn’t thought twice about their sudden excitation – John was in one of the world’s most famous rock bands in the world, after all.

The place was modestly full, although he couldn’t see much because they hardly lit the place for some reason. John made his way over to the bar, and the people there parted like the sea. The staff started freaking out and talking excitedly in Swedish. Everyone was gawking and staring, but unlike anything John had ever witnessed. They were in awe as if he were Jesus, but overwhelmed like they didn’t know what to do with themselves. 

“A beer, please?” John asked hesitantly, but the frenetic energy around him drowned out his simple request. The head bartender quite literally climbed over the bar and started shaking John’s hand eagerly, speaking in rapidfire Swedish. The bartender helped John up from his seat and linked arms with him, earnestly ushering him to the back of the room. The crowd around them were all chanting the same few words, but John couldn’t figure out the context of anything for the life of him. Someone in the quickly forming crowd handed him their own frothing pint of beer. John accepted it graciously, having learned long ago that it was a token of respect. The bartender opened a hidden door that lead to a stairwell into the basement. John knew only two things could come from musty stairwells at the back of rundown establishments: bad things, and great things.

John allowed himself to be escorted down the stairs, just in case it was his lucky day. 

The basement seemed to be where the party was at – except the huge crowd of people weren’t dancing or partying, just waiting anxiously. The only music that was playing was nondescript sounds of beating drums. John lost the bartender in the crowd which was packing fuller by the minute. It was incredibly dark down here, too. Everyone was getting amped up for something, and John got swept up in the excitement. Suddenly, the small stage at the back of the room was lit. The crowd lost their minds.

There was a single record player hooked up to mountains and mountains of speakers, even more than he and Pete brought on tour with them to rock venues bigger than this. The crowd started chanting the same duo-syllabic Swedish word, the excitement building with each repetition. 

From the left wing, a man in a red robe walked onstage. The crowd got louder. John tried to find the exit in case he had found himself in the middle of something really bad. Before he turned to leave, he saw the man pull a velvet box from the folds of his robes. The place was practically shaking with everyone’s excitement. The man pulled a golden key from the necklace he wore, and unlocked the box on the small table beside the record player. John strained to see what he was doing. From the box, the man revealed a 45 vinyl and proudly showed it to the crowd, who were now cheering and yelling uncontrollably. He moved to put the 45 on the player, and then crowd went dead silent. John could hear the player be clicked on, and the needle being dropped on the vinyl. The man dropped to his knees in prayer. John swallowed quickly, clutching his beer. 

A familiar bass riff came crashing in through the wall of speakers.

It was his bass riff.

The one he made up for a joke, way back in 1966. 

The previously timid Swedish crowd let hell break loose. They nearly shook the house down. 

_”Look, he’s crawling up my wall…”_

“Holy shit,” John whispered to himself. 

Everyone in the room started throwing themselves around, dancing wildly, jumping around, cheering, singing, screaming the lyrics. It was a madhouse. John’s mouth hung open the whole time. 

It was his voice and his song shaking the building to its foundations. The balancing was way off on the ouput; only the bass was amplified, making the ground rumble and his ears melt. His death growl poured out of the speakers like rocky cement.

_“Now he’s up above my head, hanging by a little thread…Boris the spider…”_

“BO-RIS! BO-RIS! BO-RIS! BO-RIS! BO-RIS! BO-RIS! BO-RIS! BO-RIS! BO-RIS!” the crowd chanted like a prayer, like it was their saving grace. John sunk to the back of the room against the wall to avoid being trampled underfoot by his worshippers. He discarded the beer. He stood, astounded. He couldn’t believe his eyes. In the middle of the stage, a banner descended from the ceiling. Two other red robed men came out to tug on the ropes on either side. The banner unfurled to a huge colour portrait of John. It was one of his most attractive ones, a picture from him back in their Mod days when he was young, handsome, and clean shaven. It was him, and only him.

The crowd reached new levels of loud, with John’s bass thudding through the walls. It was only a matter of time before the whole structure would surely collapse. People swarmed the lip of the stage, tossing roses, coins, and what he assumed were love letters at his picture. A group of young Swedish women in front of him started crying. In the back of the dark room, no one could see his face in the shadows. He was smiling.

John felt very appreciated, very appreciated indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is what i imagined playing at the end
> 
> http://ziggystarducks.tumblr.com/post/150048713363


	5. i chew on a piece of your custard pie

At nearly 4 in the morning, John rushed inside the chalet from the frigid cold outside, shutting the door quietly and leaning back against it. He let out a sigh, catching his breath at the tail end of an adrenaline rush. The exact person he wanted to see was already awake and right in the room with him. 

“Keith, you’ll never fucking guess what,” John laughed breathlessly, trying to keep his voice down so he wouldn’t wake everyone else in the bedrooms. Keith was a few feet away in the kitchen, in the middle of pouring a bowl of cereal when John’s sudden bursting in startled him. “Wait, what are you doing up?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” Keith was slurring and his eyes were dim. John knew him well enough that he was heavily drunk, and according to schedule, preparing a snack right before bed to ease his hangover the next morning. “We just got back from a bar. Shit’s weird, man.”

“You’re telling me,” John hurriedly shed off his coat and sweater and hat and scarf and gloves and boots, as one does in the thick of a bitch ass winter. “I just had the weirdest yet best fucking experience of my life. But you have to promise not to tell anyone, alright?”

Keith finished pouring milk into his bowl and nodded. “Yeah, alright. I could use some good news.” Keith took his bowl and a spoon, and he and John went over to the couch to sit in the lamplight. As usual, they huddled together with ease, as well as to keep as quiet as possible. Neither of them really wanted to mix with the others right now, anyways.

“Okay, you might not believe me, but I’m almost positive it was real,” John whispered, giddy with excitement. “By pure chance, I stumbled upon an underground Swedish cult that literally worshipped me.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe you,” Keith smirked between crunches of cereal. 

“I’m serious! They hung up a huge picture of me and played ‘Boris the Spider’ and chanted my name and everything.”

Keith gave him a look. “And you just sat there and watched them?”

“I hid in the back corner very dramatically,” John explained. “I had my hat on, and I used my scarf to cover my face just to be safe. It was unreal!”

Keith kept teasing him, and John was relieved that for once, someone could just play along with him and not dissect and analyze everything, as one person he knew quite well was fond of doing. “So, if this alleged cult is real, are you going to join them? Be their leader? Take their money? Or call the police on them and break it up?”

John blinked. “I hadn’t considered any of that. It was the biggest ego stroke ever. I want to go back again. I like to watch.”

“That’s hot,” Keith winked, and John laughed. “But seriously, dude. I dare you to go in and be their leader. Get them to do some weird voodoo stuff or name a town after you or give you their money. Do it for everyone who’s ever wanted a rabid cult following.”

“Keith, don’t you think that’s morally wrong?”

“Yeah, but come on. You know you would.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

Keith drank the milk from the bottom of his cereal bowl, and then set it aside. “Do they meet up every night? I want to come with you to this circle jerk session.”

“It’s not a circle jerk session! You know I promised I would invite you if I was ever in a circle jerk type scenario.”

“Hey, man, I appreciate you remembering how much I’m into that stuff.”

“No problem,” John grinned, still chasing his high. He got up and rummaged around for the extra blankets and pillows that he and you-know-who used last night. He started spreading the blanket out on the couch and fluffing the pillows. Keith awkwardly stood up to get out of his way. “You can definitely come with me sometime, though. I need someone to prove that I’m not just hallucinating this due to a lack of love in my life.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, sis,” Keith scratched the back of his neck awkwardly while he watched John set up his makeshift bed. “Should I, uh, leave you to it, then?”

“You can stay and chat more if you want,” John smiled, almost innocently, and Keith felt worse than ever. Keith wandered away to look like he was busy washing up his bowl and spoon, and when he turned around, John was taking off his jeans and his socks and crawling under the blanket. Keith just stood there like a damn idiot. He blamed it on the alcohol. John sat up again quickly. “Can you turn off the light before you get settled?”

Keith nodded quickly and turned off the kitchen light, then locked the front door, then the lamp by John’s head. Avoiding John’s eye, he pulled back the blanket at the end of the couch by John’s feet and went to lie down too. “Fuck, is there an extra pillow?”

“I think someone took it to use tonight,” John whispered. Truthfully, he hadn’t found it. Jonesy must have put away the second pillow when he was cleaning up earlier. But John pushed that to the back of his head immediately. “You can share mine, c’mere.”

Keith swallowed and, in total dark, felt his way over to squish in beside John on the couches that Robert conveniently ordered to almost fit two people for obvious romantic situations he planned on having. If Keith folded his arms in close, and they arranged the blanket to fit over both of their feet, they could almost comfortably lay on their backs side by side. Almost. 

“I know this sounds awful, but I’ve been feeling underappreciated and generally grumpy lately, and this happens to be every wet dream of mine come true,” John whispered to Keith in the dark.

“Yeah,” Keith was feeling nervous for the stupidest reason imaginable. He scavenged for something funny to say as was expected of him. “Although I would have thought your wet dreams involved being a conductor of some symphony at a pretentious opera or something. I always had a suspicion that shit was your guilty pleasure.”

John chuckled. “That’s definitely not mine. Maybe Pete’s, though. He’s always going on and on about getting a huge orchestra together and making epic versions of Tommy and Quadrophenia, and going to Royal Albert Hall and all that…” There was a dreamy fondness in his voice as John talked of his longtime friend, but Keith knew them both well enough that there was a heaviness in the silence that followed. “Can you imagine? I mean, he always liked that sort of thing, even when we played in the school orchestra, he loved the pretentiousness of it all, probably…”

In the dark, Keith frowned.

John sighed. “Jonesy once told me he was going to write an opera. In hindsight I thought I would have been more interested. I should have asked him if he wanted to collaborate. But instead I zoned out and thought about Pete the whole time.”

Keith squeezed his eyes shut.

“But enough about all that. I need some damn peace and quiet. I might fall asleep soon,” John finished with a yawn. He was totally at ease. Usually after a night of debauchery he was usually with Keith anyways, and if they crashed together somewhere, there was always a deep conversation right before they fell asleep that John didn’t realize how much he cherished just yet. He thought there would be infinite deep talks with him at the end of a wild night. “Sorry, I was being rude. Is there anything you wanted to talk about?”

Beside him, Keith shrugged his shoulders. “No, go ahead. I’ll try not to keep you up. I’ve been having a hard time falling asleep lately.”

“That’s a shame,” John already closed his eyes, and wriggled over to sleep on his side. He yawned again. “I hear that drinking hot water before bed helps.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” Keith whispered absentmindedly, knowing by the way John was breathing that he was already falling asleep. Within minutes he had started to snore softly, his chest rumbling against Keith where they were pressed up beside each other. Keith carefully turned onto his side, too. His nose was smushed into John’s shoulder blade, and John kept elbowing Keith in the ribcage. Keith closed his eyes but couldn’t calm his racing heart down enough to fall asleep for a long while. Outside the living room window, the sun had started to rise behind the thin curtains, casting the broad sky a peachy pink. 

Or some gay shit like that.

A few hours later, Keith had finally sunken into that deeply satisfying part of sleep when he was aggressively woken up. Robert climbed onto the couch and forcefully crawled right in between him and John. There wasn’t enough room for three grown men and unfortunately John got pushed off the edge and had the daylights knocked out of him as he hit the ground. 

“Fucking…” John, half awake, sat up quickly and rubbed his head. He looked over and saw Robert had taken his spot. “What the fuck, man?”

Robert ignored him. He got under the covers quickly and started combing Keith’s hair lovingly with his fingers. “Rise and shine, my beautiful darling angel…”

“Good Lord,” Keith woke up less than beautifully. He had drool on his cheek and a nasty hangover looming over him. He looked and felt like absolute garbage. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to treat you to something nice today,” Robert cooed, kissing Keith’s forehead. “I heard you were feeling poorly. It’s about time someone appreciated you.”

John sat on the floor watching it all. He frowned.

Keith pondered for a moment. With the morning sunlight pouring in from the window behind Robert’s beautiful face, he looked like an angel. “You know what? Yeah, you’re right.” He sat up slowly, then the hangover really hit. He lay back down. “Never mind. I can’t get up.”

Robert smiled devilishly. “Don’t you worry, my sweet little jelly bean. I’ve got just the thing.” Robert scrambled off the couch and into the kitchen, dancing through and gathering different utensils and ingredients from every cupboard. John stood up, feeling grumpy. Keith just lounged back with his hands behind his head, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Everyone else started waking up and crawling out of bed, all groggily regrouping in the kitchen. Jimmy sank into a chair at the dining room table. It was the first time anyone had seen him less than proper. He was in his pyjamas and a silk bathrobe (apparently he and Robert shopped together). Half awake, Jimmy started taking the curlers out of his hair. Bonzo started the coffee. Pete and Roger were seen briefly sneaking into the bathroom together, and the shower water started seconds later. John wasn’t thinking properly, and walked right into the second bedroom, where Jonesy was in the middle of getting dressed.

“Hey!” Jonesy hissed, covering himself quickly.

“Sorry, it was an accident,” John muttered, shutting the door behind him. He realized he was on the wrong side of the door now. But was he really? He turned to face Jonesy too. “I’m just getting my stuff. You can relax.”

Jonesy sat on the bed, watching John rifle through the dresser drawers for a clean change of clothes. Neither of them knew what to say or where to even begin. A tense awkwardness hung between them. 

Once he got what he wanted, John faced Jonesy fully and started taking his clothes off, stripping down entirely naked. He wasn’t sure what came over him. Jonesy stood up and hurriedly did the same, until they were matching. Jonesy’s eyes strayed lower. John licked his bottom lip quickly. 

“John?” Jonesy whispered. He started to inch closer.

John swallowed quickly. He stared Jonesy right in the eye and put on his socks, then his trousers, then a shirt and a sweater. He turned around and walked out of the room, slipping out the door silently. 

Jonesy frowned, then dressed himself quickly to follow him. 

While everyone was having breakfast around the table, Robert was whisking together some elaborate concoction for Keith, who was now seated at the table with everyone else. They watched as Robert filled the blender with three raw eggs, one whole tomato, two cups of dry pancake mix, a spoonful of coffee grounds, a cup of pink lemonade, a shot of absinthe, one whole clove of garlic, three handfuls of generic no-name brand breakfast cereal, a dash of salt and pepper, a cup of diced onion, and an ungodly amount of milk to fill it to the brim. Robert said something in Latin and then covered the blender, and liquefied the horrifying mix. Within a few seconds, it turned into the most unsavoury colour. John gagged as Robert poured the mix into a small glass and placed it on the table in front of Keith. Robert smiled, delighted with himself. “This is my tried and true hangover cure. I guaranteed you’ll feel better than you have in weeks.”

Keith looked nervously at everyone else at the table. Bonzo and Jonesy nodded. Jimmy reached over and patted his hand. “Trust me. Just do it.”

Keith was feeling pretty rotten and he didn’t want to waste a day inside recovering. Plus, he was in this mess because he loved to drink awful tasting shit just because other people told him to. He plugged his nose, closed his eyes, and drank it all in one go. Pete and Roger had just emerged, freshly washed, fucked, and dressed, and witnessed the whole thing. 

Keith slammed the glass back down on the table and wiped his mouth. Everyone watched him expectantly. Like a marijuana high warmly rolling over you, Keith’s stomach gradually settled, his pounding headache slowly eased, and he felt well rested and full of energy again. He sat up straighter and his back cracked and realigned perfectly. His mouth, somehow, tasted minty fresh.

“Holy shit,” Keith said. His cheeks had turned a healthy rosy colour. He was glowing radiantly.

Robert smiled pleasantly, giving a comedic bow. Pete and Roger joined everyone at the table and they all went back to eating and talking while Keith floated happily on a cloud above them. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Roger had been limping around the kitchen trying to fix something to eat, long since abandoned the crutches, when eventually Bonzo took pity on him and started helping. 

“How long will you have that thing on?” Jonesy asked Roger over his cup of tea. 

“The doctor said six weeks,” Jimmy told Jonesy. “He advised a day or two of bedrest just to give it a chance to start the healing process off right.”

“The doctor’s just a pretty face paid to say stuff like that,” Roger brushed him off casually, hobbling back to the table while Bonzo kindly carried his plate for him. “Anyways, I don’t trust people who are too pretty for their jobs. Like, why are you driving a bus or being a doctor when you could be a model? What’s wrong with you? What are you hiding?”

“Well, why don’t you answer that yourself? You’re certainly too pretty to be just a singer,” Pete batted his eyelashes, unknowingly being the source of inspiration for Roger to pursue a modest acting career a few years later. Everyone rolled their eyes.

“You might want to spend the day here at home just to be safe,” John chimed in as he finished eating. “You deserve some time to relax, anyways.”

“I can relax when I’m dead,” Roger said a little too harshly, but then played it off with a laugh. “Come on, I can at least do some work around the house. Robert, do you need me to build you a deck or something? Is there a sink I can fix?”

Robert lay a hand kindly on Roger’s arm. “The only thing you can do for me today is to spend the whole day relaxing on the couch and being lazy. When I get home, however…”

“I want to go out hiking today,” John said pleasantly to his friends. “Would anyone like to – “

“I’ll come with you, I love hiking,” Jonesy said quickly.

John raised an eyebrow. “You told me before you didn’t like – “

“Actually, I found a little contemporary art gallery in town I thought you might like,” Bonzo told Jonesy. “You should come with me.”

Pete turned to John, smiling. “I’ll go with you, we haven’t spent much time together lately.”

Keith butted right in. “I’ll go with you, John.”

Robert’s head snapped back to the opposite end of the table. “Actually Keith, I have something special planned for you today, darling, remember?”

“That makes me nervous,” Keith said. 

“No strings attached, just my special gift to you,” Robert smiled genuinely, and for a moment, Keith actually believed him. “Come on, let’s get ready to go. Our appointment is coming up soon.”

Keith looked again at John, but John was too busy having tension with Pete while they were both giving each other that _damn_ look like they always did. Keith abruptly stood up and followed Robert into the first bedroom. John didn’t even notice.

“Bonzo, what the hell?” Jonesy whispered aggressively. “Let me go with him.”

“No, it wouldn’t be a good idea,” Bonzo whispered back.

He gestured to the other side of the table where John and Pete were sitting close, talking and laughing and oblivious to the rest of the world. “Look at them. If I let that go on any longer – “

“That would have happened either way,” Bonzo said gently. 

Jonesy froze, because it hurts just as well when you hear exactly what you know to be true deep down. He started shaking his head quickly, pushing it all away. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. John Entwistle is a good man.”

“I don’t doubt that he is,” Bonzo said solemnly, offering his hand to help Jonesy up. “Come on, let’s get ready to go.”

Little by little, everyone went off to get dressed and do their own thing in town. Roger moved over to the couch grumpily, and he thought he was home alone until Jimmy emerged from the bedroom. He was carrying a few books and magazines, which he placed on the coffee table in front of Roger. 

“Thank you,” Roger said kindly, although still a bit bitter that he was left behind when everyone else got to go out and have fun. He watched Jimmy putter around the kitchen, cleaning up and putting the kettle on the stove to boil. “What are you doing today?”

“I figured I’d stay in with you today,” Jimmy smiled.

Roger, instead, frowned. “I really appreciate it, but come on. You don’t have to take care of me. You should be out there having fun and exploring with everyone else.”

“Don’t you worry, I want to,” Jimmy reassured him kindly. “I don’t mind staying in and enjoying a day to relax. And plus, I’ve had my fair share of time skiing, ever since…” Jimmy looked out the window, a mournful gaze shadowing over his face.

“Hey quick question,” Roger said. “Why do you always get dramatic whenever your love of skiing is mentioned?”

“Things were never the same after….” Jimmy wandered over to the window, placing a hand on the glass. He sighed, closed his eyes, and curled his hand into a fist. “Never mind that. It’s too much.”

“See? That’s what I mean, when you do that – “

Jimmy turned around, suddenly happy again. “The water’s boiling now. Tea?”

“Always,” Roger replied. “Milk and – “

“One sugar, I know,” Jimmy grinned, humming happily as he prepared two cups for them. Roger leafed through the magazines Jimmy brought out for him. There were a few ski edition sports magazines, travel magazines, tabloids, music, and entertainment. The latter three were magazines the two of them respectively were featured in multiple times. It wasn’t a novelty anymore these days, rather, it was expected that they would be featured in spreads because it was vital that their fans see their promotional publicity. At one point, Roger would have collected every little feature their band appeared in during their early days. But now? The thrill wasn't there like it used to be. 

Jimmy made Roger prop his casted ankle up on a few pillows, somehow knowing a hell of a lot about how to treat fractured ankles. He sat beside Roger and let him lean back against his chest, and they had a nice little cuddle. Roger held up a magazine for both of them to read while they waited for their tea to cool. Outside, fat snowflakes started falling lazily to the ground, and perhaps an idyllic and lazy afternoon wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

“Roger, stop squirming,” Jimmy grumbled.

“I can’t help it, I hate sitting still for so long,” Roger was trying to be patient but he couldn’t get comfortable.

“It’s been four minutes – “

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Roger rolled off the couch and onto his good foot to get up and stretch. “Can we at least put on some music or something?” 

“Yeah, I guess I can tolerate music for a bit,” Jimmy Page, legendary musician and rock and roll guitarist said. 

Roger looked through the albums collecting dust on the small bookshelf under the window, next to the record player. He flicked through, more and more disgusted as he went on. “This is just polka music, showtunes, and Gregorian chants? Why does Robert have such a shitty music collection?”

Jimmy chuckled and pushed his hair off his face. “He had a strict ‘good vibes only’ policy when he brought music up here. If a record wouldn’t emulate a cozy snowy cottage experience, then it didn’t make the cut.”

“I’m just glad he finally got rid of that damn disco…” Roger muttered, deciding between a record of a Polish chamber choir singing selected Rodgers and Hammerstein classics, or a compilation album of the alleged 25 best polka tunes from 1939 to 1943.

Jimmy broke out in a nervous sweat. “Haha, yeah, you’re right. There’s no disco here. Not a single disco record under this roof. You are correct in that assumption that there is no disco music here – “

“Thankfully Pete told me he quit cold turkey. An addiction like that can ruin lives,” Roger decided on the Polish choir and put the record on. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but it did sort of fit the idyllic countryside mood. “It’s a good thing you’re not into any of that stuff, though.”

Jimmy felt uneasy lying, especially to someone he respected and cared for like Roger. “I just don’t see why it’s such a bad thing. Some people like to indulge in different lifestyles. Liking different music isn’t hurting anyone.”

“But is it, though?” Roger hobbled back to the couch and curled up with his substitute lanky dark haired guitarist, because his real one was being a bit of a traitor right now. Roger reached for a music magazine. He flipped through the pages, showing Jimmy. “Look. Over half of these pages are covering sexual disco icons, or Europop artists, or young pop stars. Your band is only mentioned a few times. My band has an interview and a full-page album advertisement. They’re drowning us out.”

“Don’t you think the legends we looked up to before us thought the same thing about us at the start of the decade?” Jimmy mused into another singer’s curly blond hair, because his singer was out seducing another man to summon another man from the dead and seduce him too. “They’re still just as famous, even now.”

“But come on. The quality of art has gone down. Take someone like Donna Summer. She only sings about sex or whatever. It’s trashy.”

“You also sing about sex,” Jimmy said. “And quite frankly, that’s a sexist double standard that harms women everywhere – “

Roger rolled his eyes and sighed as dramatically as possible, and it was such a Robert Plant mannerism that Jimmy instinctively got a little turned on but whatever. “Can you at least see where I’m coming from? The bar is higher for us and the critics are harsher, but the rest of the world is falling in love with yet another temporary counterculture. It’s like they want us out.”

“Don’t forget that you came from one of those countercultures. Maybe it’s a temporary one too, maybe not. Only time will tell,” Jimmy reassured him, gently combing through Roger’s hair with his fingers. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate, though.” He quickly covered his mouth, because last time he said he was 'playing devil's advocate', everyone assumed that meant he was a full-blown Satanist and started trashing him in the media and the Pope started sending him death threats, etc. etc. etc. It was a grotesque act of betrayal, but his own personal affair with the dark arts and Satan happened to be unrelated and purely incidental. 

“How are you so relaxed about this?” Roger frowned, propping his wounded ankle back up on the stack of pillows and leaning back into Jimmy.

“There’s nothing I can do to change it. But I have confidence that I’ve worked hard in my career, and I’ve cemented my place in history,” Jimmy absentmindedly kissed Roger’s temple as the Polish choir accompanying them was finishing a soulful medley that sent shivers through both of them. 

Roger nodded lazily. “I guess all we can do is ramble on.”

“Hey, that’s actually a really good idea for a song – “

“Jimmy, you guys already wrote that song. Like, a really long time ago. That's what I was referencing.”

“What the fuck? What year is it? Who am I?”

“Fuck, man, I dunno…” Roger sat up for a moment. “Is it just me, or are the rest of you losing a grip on reality too?”

Meanwhile, Jonesy and Bonzo had walked to a community art gallery in a smaller pocket of town; the kind of pristine cleanliness that could only be provided by rich, retired old people. There was a modest collection of contemporary paintings by locals, as well as some hand carved wood sculptures here and there. They were alone in the gallery save for two other couples wandering around the small space. The twenty-something year old gallery attendant recognized them and caught up with them, handing them both a flute of champagne as if they had planned for the possibility of their visit.

“Kommer Robert också att komma?” the attendant whispered eagerly.

Bonzo smiled. “Nej, han försöker blåsa min vän just nu, ledsen.”

The attendant bowed politely, and tried his best to speak in English. “Sorry to interrupt. Enjoy the art!”

They watched the young man scurry back to the front desk in time to greet a group of tourists. Jonesy examined his glass for cleanliness while they wandered through the first room. “I didn’t know you were so fluent in Swedish.”

“I was practicing for our trip,” Bonzo turned his glass in his hand nervously. “For the past few months I took language classes in a high school basement on night a week. I invited you to come join, but you said that was those were the nights you got to see John.”

Jonesy frowned. “I’m sorry about all that. I’ll make it up to you sometime.”

Bonzo shrugged. “It’s okay. I understand.”

They walked up to a painting washed with the most beautiful shade of blue they had ever seen in their lives. It made Jonesy forget all about John for a brief moment, until he absentmindedly took a sip of champagne and nearly burst into tears when the taste hit his tongue. He clamped his mouth down and started whimpering. 

“I know, it’s a beautiful landscape piece, isn’t it?” Bonzo murmured.

Jonesy shook his head frantically, and swallowed the drink. “No, it’s the champagne. It’s a Krug Clos d'Ambonnay. John bought it for me and we drank it while we had a picnic and watched the sun set along the Seine…” 

Jonesy looked like he was going to wobble into tears, so Bonzo quickly took the flute from him and drank it, then drank his own, and left the glasses on the ground against the wall. “There, no more champagne. No more tears. It doesn’t exist, so it can’t hurt you.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jonesy nodded sadly. He tried to redeem himself by being overprotective of Bonzo instead. “Hey, easy on the drinking, though. I know you’ve been trying to cut back.”

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” Bonzo grumbled. “Your broken heart comes first.” 

“John and I haven’t even broken up or anything,” Jonesy stuck his chin out while they walked around the room some more. “We can still work it out. We just need some time.”

Bonzo held the door open for Jonesy while they walked into the next room, and he decided not to say anything just yet. Behind them, the group of tourists were crowded around their two empty champagne glasses on the ground, taking photos and discussing the nuances of such an interesting art installation. 

“Anyways, just try and enjoy yourself without all this extra stress,” Bonzo advised good-naturedly, and thankfully, Jonesy took it to heart.

“What would I do without you always looking out for me after all these years?” Jonesy smiled up at him.

“It’s my job,” Bonzo shrugged, and Jonesy blushed for some reason. “I’ve got you and you’ve got me. I’m just worried about Keith. I don’t think he’s got anyone to take care of him.”

But in fact, Keith had someone taking care of him. Very thoroughly. But it wasn’t quite the emotional therapy he really needed. 

“Hngngnghghnhogosngoly shit,” Keith moaned into the towel as he lay face down and received the most rigorous Swedish massage he would ever feel in his life. A tall, handsome man with blond hair dyed dark, blue eyes, and long thick fingers was coaxing Keith into submission on the massage table.

On the table beside him, Robert was giving everyone a sample of Led Zeppelin I era moans while a pretty blond Swedish girl worked him deeply. Robert abruptly propped himself up on the table, rolled over, and growled. “You beautiful vixen, come here…”

“I’m a bit busy,” Keith lifted his head to look over just as Robert’s masseuse was crawling onto the table with him and they started making out. He swallowed quickly. “Uh? Robert? What kind of spa is this, exactly?”

The masseuse started kissing down Robert’s chest and unwrapping the towel around his waist. Robert turned to Keith. “What do you mean? This happens at every spa I go to. And restaurant. And café. And clothing store. And pub. And bar. And shoe store. And – oh, god, yes, Märta…”

“Fuck,” Keith whispered softly, and realized he had been hanging out with the wrong people this past decade and a half.

“Mm, but I’m being selfish. We should go for a soak now,” Robert politely pried the masseuse’s mouth off his cock. Keith’s masseuse stopped too, and everyone got ready to leave.

“Um, Robert?” Keith remained laying down. He gestured Robert over, and got him to lean in so he could whisper in his ear. “I can’t get up. I was thinking of John while I was getting rubbed down and now I have the biggest boner in human history.”

Robert chuckled fondly. The male masseuse, who was unfortunately not John Entwistle, overheard and reappeared behind Keith. He started cracking his fingers and reached for the massage oil. Keith sat up quickly and wrapped his towel tighter around his waist. “Um, I’m flattered, truly, but now’s not a good time…”

Robert tossed him one of those fancy fluffy robes, and Keith decided to sit up anyways because this was apparently not the kind of establishment where people cared if you got boners because of some liberal hippy free love bullshit. Robert lead Keith down stairs to the rooms with the therapeutic baths and jacuzzi tubs and all that. If there’s one thing Robert and Keith could agree on, it’s that they both loved things that were extraordinarily and completely unnecessarily fancy. 

The two of them disrobed and sunk into the empty bath, dicks out and everything, and at this point it was a chill thing. Another otherworldly beautiful woman came by shortly after with a little cart and started putting goopy black face masks on them with a paintbrush. 

“Isn’t this just wonderful?” Robert said.

“This is pretty damn swell,” Keith admitted honestly. “Although John would never let me live it down if he saw me like this.”

“Forget about him,” Robert said as sexy as he could manage while a facemask was starting to dry and harden on his skin. “Keith, listen to me. I’ll give you anything you could ever want.”

“Uh,” Keith knew he wasn’t joking. He could get Robert to do anything he wanted. That was too much power, was it not? The woman finished painting the goop on their faces and packed up to leave, and they were in near total privacy. Keith swallowed quickly. “This is really great and fun and I’m loving spending time with you, but your intentions are questionable.”

At this point the masks had hardened completely and neither of them could move their faces very well to talk. Robert tried his best to appear serious. “You know exactly what I want from you.”

“I don’t think I can guarantee anything,” Keith was going to frown but he couldn’t move his mouth. “I shouldn’t be accepting all this cool stuff from you if I can’t get you what you want.”

“The stakes are unbearably high,” Robert blinked a lot because he couldn’t express himself with any of his other facial features. “Just go to your great aunt’s house and ‘borrow’ something he used. A tootbrush. A pen. Or a grocery list he wrote. Or a letter he signed.”

“What are you even going to use it for?”

“That’s for Jimmy and I to know and no one else to find out.”

“Dude, what – “

“Keith, I need it.”

Under the jacuzzi bubbles, Robert’s hand slowly started sliding up Keith’s thigh. Keith swallowed quickly. “I’ll get you a signed book, on one condition.”

“Anything for you.”

“I want John,” Keith said. “Get rid of everyone else and buy me some time alone with him before he forgets all about me and goes back to Pete or Jonesy or his cult or whatever.”

“He has a cult too?”

“Ignore that, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”

“Understood,” Robert extended a pinky towards him. Keith, being a damn fucking idiot, met him in the middle for a pinky swear for something he knew very well he couldn't possibly pull off, all because of his stupid fucking crush on John. Robert reached for his towel and started climbing out of the bath. “I’ll arrange it. Now come on, let’s peel this shit off our faces.”

Out in the wilderness, John and Pete were hiking through the forest and goofing off like they did when they were teenagers. They packed food and cigarettes, and brought hot chocolate spiked with booze even though it was guaranteed to taste horrible. The two of them found a secluded spot off the hiking trail to sit up against a tree in the snow, protected by layers of warm clothing. John took off his backpack and they started digging through eagerly for snacks. 

“God, it’s so good to be away from everything for awhile,” John couldn’t be more excited. He opened the package of biscuits and took some, then traded with Pete to take a swig from his hip flask. “No dramatic friends, no dramatic lovers, no work, no paparazzi, no mail, no phone calls, no tax audit threats being taped to rocks and thrown through my window every night…”

“I may be a messy bitch who loves drama,” Pete Townshend said. “But I’ve got to agree, sometimes you just need to hide in a forest with your oldest friend and catch up with life for a bit.”

Their view was gorgeous; something out of a Christmas card with the thick trees and fresh untouched snow. It was tolerable to sit in because the trees blocked out the icy winds and kept them warm, in a way. Or maybe it was the way they were both sitting so close together, or the warmth of the long-lasting love between them. John could lean against Pete, even rest his head against his shoulder, and it was all fine. They could both just sit back and stare up at the sky, and relax…

“So why were you and Jonesy all cold to each other this morning?” Pete asked and ruined the peaceful silence.

John sighed. “I don’t think he knows what he wants, and I feel like I’m just being strung along while he figures out the meaning of life or whatever.”

“So he won’t put out?”

“Yeah, but,” John caught himself, and frowned. “Wait, does that sound bad? It’s not like I’m upset about not getting off or anything, I’m not a bad person or whatever.”

Pete took a drink from the flask, then handed it to John. “Then what is it?”

“I dunno, I just…” John thought for a moment, and took a drink. “I guess since he’s always rejecting physical intimacy, it’s making me feel really rotten about myself. It’s not wrong to want to balance emotional intimacy with physical intimacy, right?”

“If that’s your thing,” Pete said and took the flask back, sipping again. “Do you think it’s his?”

“I wouldn’t know if it wasn’t!” John groaned. “It feels like I’ve been seeing him forever but we haven’t made any progress at all, like I’m slipping backwards or something.”

“How long have you two been dating?”

“I dunno, time doesn’t pass normally in this universe, remember?”

“Oh, right, yeah. I forgot.”

“I don’t even know anymore. Is your true love supposed to be the one you think has all the qualities that complement yours? Or are they supposed to be your best friend? Or the person you’ve loved the most for the longest?”

A ghost of wind found it’s way through the trees as the sun started to dim in the sky. Pete moved in closer to John to stay warm. “That’s a good question, really. We spend all our lives thinking it’s the first one, but people who’ve found their soul mate say it’s the second, but logically shouldn’t it be the third?”

Long after the wind passed, John shivered. “Maybe you’re right.”

Pete looked down at John, quickly licking his lips. “Why did you think Jonesy was good for you?”

John looked up at Pete. “He’s a really good friend. Nice and steady. He’s smart, well-read, talented, ambitious…” John’s eyes strayed away from Pete’s and drifted lower. “And those long legs, he’s all soft and feminine, beautifully lanky…”

Pete rested his cheek against John’s. His skin was cool from the fresh mountain air. “Oh, John…”

“I must sound like a total idiot, right?” John chuckled softly. 

“No, you don’t. And I don’t blame you at all,” Pete wound his arm through John’s. “He’s lucky to even have you.”

“So why do you think it didn’t work out?” A silence fell between them while they sat amongst the trees in the middle of the universe. The quiet was deafening, stunning. Pete knew they weren’t talking about Jonesy anymore. 

“It’s hard for me too,” Pete murmured after a while, nervous to address what hung between them for years. “But we promised all those years ago. Even still, I would sacrifice all of that just to keep our friendship pure and strong for the rest of my life. If anything happened and you hated me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“It’s been years, and we still feel just as strongly,” John was too nervous to even look him in the eye.

“It would be dangerous.”

“Everything we do is dangerous,” John said. “We’re all out here chasing our next thrill, there’s no point in trying to think any of us are above that.”

“But when it comes to love, shouldn’t that be the one thing you take seriously and go gentle with?”

“I could do that. I feel like everyone I have is just a temporary thing until you – “

“John,” Pete whispered desperately. His voice was full of want, restraint, jealously, pity, lust… “I don’t know what to do.”

They lay still together, all on their own. All John had to do was lift his head from Pete’s shoulder, turn slightly to the left, lean in, and press their lips together after decades of separation and end all the frustration once and for all. To hell with restraining yourself for artistic motivation, or playing good, or doing what would be morally right, or taking precautions and being safe. John hadn’t realized how hard it was to keep this bottled up until it all threatened to erupt right now right this very second, because the solitude of being on the brink of the universe really could do that to a guy. 

Instead, they both finished the contents of the flask, and they didn’t dare make eye contact before it all fell apart. 

“Just stay with Jonesy, he’s stable,” Pete muttered after awhile. “And keep Keith for the excitement and fun.”

“Wait, what do you mean ‘keep Keith’?”

Pete furrowed his eyebrows. “I thought you two were…?”

“What? Oh my god,” this time John properly sat up and started laughing. “I mean, we’re best mates, but it never occurred to either of us that we could ever…y’know…”

Pete gave him a funny look. “I just assumed that since you guys spend all that time together out partying, and y’know, everyone sees you go home together afterwards…?”

“Yeah, because he has a flat right downtown,” John laughed, now nervously. “I mean, why would I drive an hour out of town if I’m about to pass out at the end of the night? He lets me share the bed with him and sometimes I wake up and he’s spooning me but it’s not like that.”

Pete raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not!” John pretended to dig through his backpack for something else to eat. “I mean, I’ve always thought about it, but _some_ people think that fucking your best friends might _ruin_ things…”

“It wouldn’t be just fucking,” Pete continued teasing him further. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you since he was sixteen years old.”

“You’re bullshitting me,” John pushed his shoulder.

“I mean, why would I tell you this if I loved you for years before he came along?”

“You’re full of shit,” John grinned devilishly, then reached over to start making a snowball.

Pete scrambled up quickly. “Don’t you dare!”

John sprang up and Pete took off running and screaming. John laughed and threw the snowball at the back of his head, right at the bull’s eye where the snow would fall down his back under his coat and condemn him to suffer for minutes. Pete hopped around trying to shake the snow out, then gathered a handful of snow to retaliate with. John pulled the trick out of his back pocket that he used on Pete nearly every winter when they were young, banking on being stockier than Pete ever was. He charged towards him and tackled Pete into the fluffy snow. When John sat up, Pete shoved the snow right into John’s face to get back at him. 

“Fuck!” John cried out, and they both started howling with laughter while John desperately brushed the snow off of his face. He sat back, still straddling Pete, but it was chill and casual. He looked down at Pete, and got lost in thought, if only for a moment.

“Whatcha thinking?” Pete asked quietly, unable to be cold in his bed of snow when John got him so fired up. Pete reached out to put a hand on John’s thigh, hesitantly at first.

“You’ve got me more confused than ever,” John admitted truthfully. “Maybe you’re right, and I should give Jonesy yet another chance. We can’t all be fucking twenty people at a time like you are.”

“It’s only nineteen people, thank you very much,” Pete scoffed.

John wiggled his eyebrows. “Want to make it twenty?”

Pete propped himself up on his elbows and looked at John. “Don’t tempt me.”

They both laughed, and then they didn’t, and then they both started to regret the choice they made when they were teenagers. 

Back at the chalet, Jimmy had started a fire in the fireplace and Roger pulled out a game of checkers while the National Orchestra of Denmark played on vinyl. 

“Do you want the red checkers or the black ones?” Roger asked while he started setting up the board. 

“I’ll take the black ones,” Jimmy responded after he stuffed more wood in the fire. He joined Roger on the carpet where they pushed the coffee table aside.

“I get it, you always go for the dark stuff because of your involvement in the dark arts, right?”

“What?”

“Because of the Satanist thing?”

“If I allegedly worshipped Satan, wouldn’t it make more sense to take the red checkers?”

“Fuck!” Roger quickly turned the board around so he had the black pieces. “Fuck that. I don’t want the Satan ones.”

“That’s so rude, maybe he’s just misunderstood,” Jimmy frowned. “Not that I dabble in that sort of thing, haha.”

“I’m not taking any chances,” Roger shook his head quickly. They played a few turns. Roger fidgeted and zoned out and grumbled. “I’m _bored_.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m winning!”

“Am not!”

Jimmy hopped over another red checker and added it to his growing pile of reclaimed pieces. “Roger, we’re running out of things to do. We’ve already played cards and baked cookies and braided each other’s hair and did yoga and napped and did a heavy critique of the communist manifesto and exchanged essays after...”

“While I don’t agree with your views on communism, the paper you wrote was stunningly well-researched, and I really appreciated the hints of optimism for a better future for our children towards the end.”

“Thank you, that really means a lot,” Jimmy smiled, and scored another point against Roger. “Let’s just try and play a few rounds of this until the others come home, okay?”

Roger rolled his eyes. “Fine. But let’s change up the rules and play strip checkers or something.”

“Sounds good,” Jimmy remained pleasant. They reset the board and Roger was still really bad at the game. Jimmy got the first point. “Alright, now you have to – no, Roger, taking off your cast doesn’t count…”

Roger groaned dramatically, and took off his t-shirt instead. On his next turn, he did manage to capture one of Jimmy’s checkers. “Go on, take something off.”

Jimmy seductively unwound the scarf off his neck.

“Hey! Accessories don’t count,” Roger protested. “Go topless.”

Jimmy seductively took off his jumper, cardigan, button-up, and t-shirt. “Sorry, I was cold.” They played some more, and Jimmy got the next point. Roger went to take off his one sock. “No, I want your jeans off.”

Roger unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down his hips and his perfectly toned legs, but he struggled getting his pant leg over his cast, and Jimmy pitifully helped him while Roger flailed around. He was frustrated now, and when he sat up again, he blatantly cheated and scooped up three of Jimmy’s checkers. “Take it all off.”

Jimmy went along with it happily, because they didn’t have anything better to do. Roger joined him and slipped off his own boxers so they were even. They looked at each other for a moment, now both bored by the game.

“Do you wanna make out for a bit?” Roger asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Jimmy said, so they did. 

In front of the large mirrors in the spa bathroom, Keith and Robert had more fun than they should have peeling off the face masks. A little moan accidentally slipped out while Keith pulled off a huge piece covering his cheeks and nose before it ripped. “Why does this sort of feel better than any sex I’ve been having lately?”

“You’ve been having the wrong kind of sex then, my friend.” Robert said while he used a fingernail to scrape the goop out of his eyebrow. “I told you to call me for that.”

“Ew, was all this shit on my face this whole time?” Keith made the grotesquely satisfying mistake of examining what the face mask peeled out of his skin. “I need to apologize to everyone who knows me.”

A cloth headband was included in their package of complimentary towels, so they both put it on to keep their hair out of their faces. Robert put Keith in a loving headlock and used a warm face cloth to scrub all the stubborn bits of face mask off his skin. Keith now felt like a brand new man – with the bizarre hangover cure, the pulverizing massage, and a few layers of skin ripped and rubbed off of his face. Perhaps that was the refresher he needed to turn his life around and kick a few nasty habits.

“Now,” Robert smiled devilishly, extended a dainty hand to hold Keith’s, and lead him upstairs to a more secluded room. “How about a nice little dessert to end our visit?”

He did, unfortunately, mean a literal dessert. Because Robert bought such a lavish spa package, they had access to a small lounge with hot drinks, fresh fruits, and stupidly fancy desserts. Keith filled two plates full of sweets and curled up on the couch to eat. Robert took his time sampling everything offered. 

“Ooh, they have fresh tangerines…” Robert took a slice and bit into it, the juices squirted everywhere suggestively. It didn’t help that he moaned while he ate it. 

When no one was looking, Keith wiped his hand on one of the pillows. “Hey, while you’re up, could you get me a glass of water?”

“Sure,” Robert reached for a nice porcelain cup and poured water from the pitcher. “Mmm….they also have lemons, do you want me to _squeeze_ some in for you?”

“Uh,” Keith narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Okay.”

Robert went to town, taking half a lemon in each hand and sensually squeezing them into Keith’s glass while Keith sat and watched for a good five minutes, unsure of how to act. Other patrons in the room started staring. Lemon juice dribbled down his hands, and Robert turned around and licked it off slowly and sensually. One woman had to sit down and fan herself.

Robert brought over Keith’s water and his own plate. Keith accepted the pseudo-jizz cup warily. “Thanks, mate. What did you get?”

“I got a piece of custard pie, my all time favourite,” Robert took a small forkful and ate it. “Mmmmmmmmmmgmmgmgmgohohohhohohohmmymymmgooodmdoooddononndnodnmf f dnd YESSSSS YESSSSSS UNNHHNHNH H OGOD YESSS FUCK FUFC FUCK ME FUCJK FUCK DNCVDFM,MMMMMM,MM……..”

“What the fuck,” Keith said quietly.

A few people politely left the room. Robert threw his head back and collapsed against the couch in pure ecstasy, blushing beautifully and practically glowing with pleasure. He caught his breath and looked over at Keith. “Goodness, that was pretty decent.”

“’Decent’?”

Robert gazed lovingly at the slice of pie, which, at this rate, would take him an hour to finish eating. “You know what I should do? I should write a song about a slice of custard pie being a euphemism for a woman’s vagina. That would be a really good idea.”

“I’m sure everyone else would really appreciate that,” Keith said. Robert crossed his legs even though he was wearing a robe, and happily kept eating. Keith couldn’t help but smile fondly at him. “So, is, like, that your thing? Food? Like a food fetish? No judgement, just wondering.”

Robert gave him a suggestive look. “I’ll try anything once. Maybe twice.”

As they ate, Keith thought about a food fetish consisting of eating good food while fucking, and that maybe he should start telling his partners he had a food fetish. Beside him, Robert thought about how he could convince Jimmy to let him put his dick in a custard pie during sex.


	6. just the tip

John and Pete stared at each other for a long time. 

“Do you think,” Pete started, his voice low and quiet. “We should head back?”

John nodded, a bit too eagerly. 

They packed up the backpack again and started to retrace their steps. They slipped back into their younger days – Pete sweeping in with a bold proposition and John being on board immediately. Pete leading them off to adventure with his nose in the air, guaranteeing it would be the greatest thing he’d ever see. John following eagerly, never a pushover, but always agreeable and adventurous. 

They instinctively walked further apart on the trail where other hikers could see them, and they hurried past until they were out of eye shot again. They acted too casual, with Pete only glancing down at John out the corner of his eye. 

When they were teenagers, Pete grew painfully awkward and kept quiet most of the time. John beat him in height for a while, maturing first, and finally coming out of his shell. They got distracted with music, and clothes, and girls. Now it was John getting them in trouble – wanna try this beer my cousin gave me? Wanna try this cigarette I stole from mum’s purse? Wanna try to sneak into this dirty movie?

Exhausted, they finished the trail and went into town to find their driver. John stood close to Pete while they waited, looking up at him, searching for a look on his face.

It brought him back to the summer when Pete nearly doubled in height and it was the first time John needed to crane his neck and look up at him again. It was their first semi-independent summer when their curfews were extended and they had permission to go almost anywhere now. It also felt like the longest summer, since it was the first time they realized they occupied space in the universe. John remembered the nights that went on forever, where sometimes all they’d do was sit on the grass and look at the sky, or sit on a bench on a busy road and watch all sorts of people going by, or they’d walk every street in London in amicable silence from dusk to dawn, mapping their territory in muscle memory. They’d spend days at a time together, since everyone else’s families left for the holidays and the neighbourhood fell quiet. Sleeping over with each other had never been a problem, but it was that summer when the idea of sharing a twin bed made John and Pete blush. 

“That was a nice trail,” Pete said absentmindedly in the back of the car.

“Yes, it was,” John responded, not sure exactly what he was nervous about.

It had been a summer thick with hot air, even on London’s typically cold standards. They slept with Pete’s bedroom window open, and even a thin cotton sheet over them was too hot. They couldn’t sleep, not that night, nor the night before, nor before that. Slowly, suddenly, subtly, smoothly, something developed and they only had eyes for each other. 

“We’ll have to tell the others about it,” Pete said.

“Yes, I’m sure they might like to try it as well,” John responded.

In the middle of that sultry evening when the rest of London was falling asleep, John and Pete were more awake than they’d ever been.

_Mind if I put my hand here?_

_You can put it lower if you’d like._

_Is this okay?_

_It’s grand._

_Move in closer._

_Can I kiss you?_

When they got in through the front door of the chalet, they walked right in on Jimmy and Roger, totally naked, snogging on top of a checker’s board. 

Roger noticed them first, and took his hand off of Jimmy’s cock. “Darling! You’re back.”

“Welcome home!” Jimmy smiled pleasantly. “How was hiking?”

“It was really nice, very invigorating,” Pete answered, dropping the backpack on a chair at the dining room table. John bent down to untie his boots, discreetly checking out Jimmy and Roger. He noted that he was bigger than both of them, and quietly sighed with relief. 

“That’s so great to hear,” Roger repositioned himself between Jimmy’s legs, keeping the cast on his ankle awkwardly stuck out.

“Do you guys want to join us for dinner later?” Jimmy asked.

“We’ll see. I’m all gross and sweaty, I might shower first,” Pete said nonchalantly, drifting over to the first bedroom. 

“Sounds swell,” Roger smiled. John hurriedly took off his coat and hat.

"Oh, John?” Pete called from behind the bedroom door. “I found that book I was telling you about…”

“Right,” John’s hands were shaking, so he stuffed them in his pockets and crossed the room. Roger and Jimmy went back to kissing, and no one suspected a thing.

John slipped in discreetly. Why did he always find himself sneaking around to see his lovers? He pressed himself flat against the door, that thrilling feeling in his stomach rising. Pete was searching through the drawers and the closet for a clean towel, humming. 

John moved across the room to sit on the edge of the bed. He swallowed quickly. “You’ve got to help me out here, Pete. I feel like I’m dying.”

Pete glanced at him over his shoulder, still humming. 

Now’s not the time to be alluring and mysterious, Pete. “Jonesy’s been leaving me blue-balled for so long,” John chuckled nervously.

A record started playing outside in the living room, turned a little too loud to cover something probably suspicious. Pete turned to John and started undressing, pulling his jumper off first, then the shirt under it. 

Outside, the sky was fading into a dark blue. They hadn’t turned on the bedroom lights. Pete was unbuckling his belt, and slipping his jeans off. The shadows made him look even more beautiful than ever. Pete was still too skinny and boney all over, just as John remembered. 

Pete climbed onto the bed next to John, kneeling on the mattress. Instinctively, they both moved as silently as possible, used to hiding from their nosy mothers as teenagers. 

John’s eyes drifted while Pete trailed a hand lazily down his stomach to his cock. He was already half hard. Pete wound his fingers around himself and started stroking. 

_Mind if I put my hand here?_

_You can put it lower if you’d like._

The beautiful bastard was giving him his own personal show to get off on. That was all John needed to get that thrilling blood rush. Pete tilted his head, giving John that thoughtful but fond look. His mouth fell open. John lay back on the mattress and undid his own trousers, pushing them and his boxers down his hips. He matched Pete’s movements, his eyes raking all over the other man. It was the most electric feeling when they locked eyes, and neither dared to look away in case it would be the last time they would be alone like this, with the other’s full and undivided attention. Neither of them knew if it would be, but the imminent danger of endings only thrilled them further. It made it all more worthwhile to leap headfirst into danger. Everything they ever did together was dangerous. 

_Is this okay?_

_It’s grand._

John got too caught up with the relief, with the memory of Pete’s hands on him, with the sparks of pleasure shooting from everywhere under his skin. John rolled onto his side and started stroking faster, rougher. Pete matched him and then promptly lost himself in the feeling. His head tipped back and a whimper escaped. It was the only thing John could hear over the sound of his heartbeat thudding in his ears, and it was beautiful.

Pete let himself fall backwards onto the mattress, stretching out his long legs and arching his back. 

_Move in closer._

John pried his hand off of his cock for long enough to scramble closer to Pete on the bed, mirroring his position. They lay side to side, eye to eye. Pete was breathing raggedly, trying to suppress his little noises but failing. John bit down on his bottom lip to stay quiet. He forced himself to slow down, catch his breath, then pick up his pace again. He needed this to go on forever.

Pete’s breath hitched suddenly, and he squirmed on the bedsheets. John watched his cheeks and chest go red in splotchy patches. His hips arched again. His head rolled to the side again to look at John. His eyebrows raised and a little crease appeared between them, just like it always did when Pete was worried or thinking but always vulnerable. John nearly lost his breath when he realized he had never loved Pete more than he did in this moment right now, after all this time, after everything they’ve gone through together. It was a flood of love that made him absolutely dizzy, but gave him courage with it’s overwhelming strength, not fear. 

_Can I kiss you?_

Pete moved in to bury his face in the crook of John’s neck, for protection, for safety, for comfort, like he always used to do. John watched Pete writhe beautifully under the faint blue light from the window. He jerked suddenly and came, spattering over John’s hand and stomach. He moaned decadently into John’s skin, not the moan of a boy like he remembered, but the deep guttural sound of a real man. It kicked John right over the edge.

“Touch me, Pete, please,” John whispered desperately, so only them two could hear. Pete was breathing heavily, still regaining himself. He dragged his lips up the oversensitized skin of John’s neck, his faint five o’clock stubble scraping against him. John’s gut twisted and he tightened his grip. Pete kissed John’s cheek, deep and loving and simple, and sent John to the point of no return. John threw his head back and came hard. He felt himself simultaneously sinking into the mattress with deep, deep relief, as well as every nerve in his body burning with pleasure until he was a pile of ashes. 

He rolled desperately into Pete’s arms, and Pete welcomed him in and held him close. They clutched each other a little too tightly, because now they were afraid of letting go. Maybe it wouldn’t be the last time, though. Maybe there would be more secret encounters like this. John knew no matter where he was or who he was with, he would drop everything for Pete. Would Pete do the same for him? Perhaps it was the way that Pete’s nails dug into the skin of John’s back that reassured him that maybe Pete wouldn’t get over him so easily after all. Together, their breathing gradually slowed. Together, they decided to part. 

The record outside had ended, and no one bothered to flip it over. The bedroom was too still, too silent. John had a metric tonne of things he wanted to say weighing on his chest, but he dared not release the decades long avalanche of sentiment. 

“I have to go shower,” Pete said, but it was kind. As casual as stating the weather outside. 

“You ruin me,” John responded, but it was also kind. Oddly, they both smiled. 

“I’m never going to be able to quit you,” Pete sighed matter-of-factly. He sat up and got off the bed, stretching his lean body. John admired the dips in his back, and quickly spotted the small freckle on the bottom of his right shoulder blade that he once fell in love with. His chest felt tight, but when Pete turned around again, John knew he didn’t have anything to be worried about. There was a safety net to catch them both together, no matter what they did or who they loved after this. There would always be John and Pete.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, John thought. He opened his mouth, the words threatening to escape. John’s lungs threatened to give air to the burning words, but before he engulfed in flames entirely, John shut his mouth. He said nothing. 

Pete fetched the towel he had left on the edge of the bed that had long since been kicked off. He looked over at John again and cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. Pete didn’t have to say anything either, because he knew. With a warm smile, Pete slipped out the door with the towel around his waist, and John was okay. 

Outside, Robert and Keith burst in dramatically through the front door. He had a crazed look in his eyes and started pointing fingers. 

“You: off,” He pointed to Roger who had accidentally started sucking Jimmy’s dick. He slid his mouth off of him, and the two fetched their clothes. “Where’s John and Pete?”

John heard his name called, so after cleaning up, he slunk out of the bedroom and immediately saw Keith. Keith smiled at him, and John felt guilty even though he also felt proud and satisfied and he wanted to brag to Keith like he always did about things with Pete except now that he knew Keith liked him like _that_ it would just make Keith sad and John felt guilty and confused again and _to top it all off_ Pete came out of the steaming bathroom and froze in the doorway in his towel with everyone staring at him and John accidentally peeked and Keith saw him peeking and connected the dots that they were together alone all day and why would Pete need to shower and why did he look so relaxed and why was John blushing? So Keith frowned and John looked away and Pete stood there awkwardly and Roger was hopping around trying to put his jeans back on so he wasn’t totally naked in front of everyone but he couldn’t get the trouser leg over his cast and he slipped on the carpet and hit his elbow on the coffee table in that really fucking painful spot and he started screaming and Jimmy was like oh no dude are you okay? And Robert was like James you beautiful slut put your damn clothes on. And Pete was like yikes can I go get dressed before I catch pneumonia? And then Robert was like GUYS WAIT. 

“Where’s Jonesy and Bonzo?” Robert demanded.

“To make storytelling easier, we have conveniently just arrived home,” Bonzo announced as he and Jonesy entered the chalet side by side. Jonesy eyed John, trying to apologize and offer to suck his dick if he’d love him again, and Keith was eyeing John pleading him not to consider it, and Bonzo was looking at the three of them trying to bargain for peace, and Pete was jealous that everyone loves John even though he gave John up to do the right thing, so Pete looked at Roger who was getting too close to Jimmy and Pete wasn’t the centre of attention so he’d have to butt in the middle of it all, and Roger just looked fucking miserable, and Jimmy was exchanging a conspiratorial look with Robert. 

“Jimmy, you take Pete out tonight, go exploring,” Robert ordered.

Pete frowned. “Actually, I wanted to do something with John tonight.”

“Actually,” Keith said louder. “ _I_ wanted to do something with John tonight.”

“Actually,” Bonzo jumped in quickly, because he felt like this would be a bad idea and maybe he could prevent bad things from happening if he handled everything in the entire planet ever. “I had something planned for Keith and I to do tonight.”

“Actually, that works,” Robert smiled, because his agenda was still working as long as Keith was under Certified Zeppelin Protection. “You two go touch dicks or whatever it is you always do. Have fun. Go on. Shoo.” He started ushering the drummers out the door. Keith looked over his shoulder desperately at John before the door shut in his face. Robert turned to Jimmy and Pete. “You two go get dressed and then go out, quickly now.” Pete and Jimmy were happy to escape, scurrying off to the bedroom together.

Robert was completely unaware of any of John’s subplots within this story. “Do you wanna –“

“I’ve got plans, don’t worry,” John reassured him, and went to get his coat on. 

Jonesy stood there awkwardly. “You, uh, forgot about me…”

That could have been addressed to at least two people in the room but John slipped out the front door quickly and Robert just assumed it was all about him. “You can, uh…” He looked around the room. Roger also stood there awkwardly, holding his wounded elbow and balancing on his one good foot. “You and Roger can go and file your taxes or talk about model trains or whatever.”

“I already filed my taxes for the year,” Jonesy said quietly. 

“You have?” Roger asked, but not in a judgemental way.

“Yeah, I was…I was bored,” he responded sheepishly.

Roger lowered his voice. “Could you actually help me with mine when we get back? Turns out I haven’t paid taxes in **[redacted]** years and I’m being threatened for a tax audit.”

“OhmyfuckinggodIwasn’tbeingseriousyouguysaresofuckingboringIwanttodie,” Robert groaned and threw himself dramatically on the couch. 

Jonesy’s bottom lip started quivering. “John had tax audit threats taped to rocks and thrown through his bedroom window every night…”

Roger furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would you be in John’s bedroom at night time?”

“Because we’re _in love_ …”

“Where the fuck have you been?” Robert sat up quickly, giving Roger a dirty look. “John and Jonesy have been attempting to touch dicks for the past seventy million thousand years.”

“What the fuck? When did this happen?” Roger shrieked. “I’ve been too busy having multiple people touch dicks with me – “

“We touched dicks a few times but everyone’s teasing me because it hasn’t been in my butthole yet but honestly I’m just really nervous and anxious and paranoid about everything ever?”

Robert covered his ears and shouted. “Don’t make me think of your butthole right now.”

“I can give you some tips if you wanted,” Roger offered kindly.

“More like..............................................................................................................................just the tip?”

“Haha, nice one.”

“Thanks, haha.”

Robert shouted louder. “ _Stooop._ ” He reached into his blouse and pulled out a wad of money and threw it at Jonesy’s beautiful head. “You two go out and do something and get out of here.”

“Do you wanna hang out?” Jonesy asked Roger kindly. He truthfully couldn’t remember if he had ever interacted with Roger in this whole timeline but whatever.

“That would be fun!” Roger smiled.

“Are you gonna, uh, get dressed first – “

“Right, yeah, gimme a minute.”

So Roger got dressed up in his most hip clothes of whatever year they were in, and Jonesy felt oddly optimistic that he could spend time with a new friend, and Robert sat sulking on the couch. When Roger was ready, they both said goodbye to Robert (Roger just made some unintellible noises with his mouth to make it seem like he was saying goodbye politely except he was still angry at Robert so he didn’t _actually_ say goodbye because that would be too friendly). 

Jonesy was just about to shut the door when Robert sprang up from the couch. “Wait!”

“Yes?” Jonesy asked. 

“You’re just going to…leave me? Without anyone to give me attention?” Robert looked worried. “What am I supposed to do here all alone? Well, aside from the obvious.”

Jonesy pretended he knew what the obvious was. “Would you like to come with us, then?”

Roger stuck his head in the door and he and Robert glared at each other.

Jonesy rolled his eyes playfully. “Come on you two, behave for one night. Let’s do something fun! You always said I needed to be spontaneous, right, Robert? Maybe you can help me.”

Robert smiled devilishly. He played coy and pretended to contemplate deeply. Then, after a long pause with everyone waiting in the doorway for him awkwardly: “…Alright. Let me get dressed and put my makeup on.”

So while Robert spent 47 minutes getting dressed up, Roger and Jonesy peacefully picked up the checkers which they forgot about until now and chatted amicably about taxes while they waited. When Robert was finally ready and bundled up against the cold, he linked arms with Jonesy and skipped out of the chalet eagerly. Jonesy didn’t want Roger to feel left out so he quickly took Roger’s hand and pulled him outside along with them, and Roger pulled the door shut and struggled to lock it quickly before the three of them set out for _the most dramatic and intense night of their lives so far this week._

Across town, Jimmy and Pete could now sit down and have a nice dinner and talk like friends, since lately they could relax with the bulk of their neverending sexual tension having been fulfilled already. Well, almost. 

“You seem troubled, darling,” Jimmy remarked gently, a fingertip circling lazily over the rim of his fancy ass glass of white wine. 

Pete stabbed at his fancy ass filet mignon with his fork and sighed. “I have a lot of feelings that I don’t know how to process without taking a few months to workshop an album about it.”

Jimmy nodded. “I know how you feel. But leaving feelings trapped up inside you will never fix anything.”

“I think that I’m a bad person for getting involved with something I know I shouldn’t be,” Pete mused. “The key word is ‘should’. I also sort of want to do whatever the fuck I want and deal with the consequences later.”

“Understandable,” Jimmy nodded. “May I ask about the context?”

“My heart is just too big for my own good,” Pete waved a hand dismissively. “But I don’t want to make a fuss and lament all night. I want to enjoy my time with you.”

Jimmy smiled. “I think you need to express yourself physically. It can be a very spiritual way to process your feelings and clear your mind to logically rearrange your thoughts.”

“Look, I’m all about expressing myself physically, but I just had a wank before we left so I might need some more time to – “

“No no, for once that’s not what I’m talking about,” Jimmy laughed. “But there is something that Robert and I do in times of peril. It’s better than sex.”

“Better than sex?”

“Much better for the mind, body, and soul. But!” Jimmy interjected dramatically. “You can’t tell Robert that I did this without him. And under no circumstances can you tell Roger, or else we’re both in major trouble.”

Pete shifted to the edge of his seat, equal parts uneasy and incredibly intrigued. “I tell Roger everything. What could be so bad that he could never know?”

“Not bad, just…people like him look down on it,” Jimmy smiled devilishly. He didn’t want to disrespect Roger, especially after their splendid time together this afternoon, but Pete seemed to be in distress, and they wouldn’t be in Sweden forever… 

Jimmy checked his watch. If they left now, they’d arrive just at the prime time. He pulled out his wallet and took out the scrap of paper with his thin fingers. It had the address on it. He slid it across the table to Pete, then placed some cash on the table. He grabbed Pete's hand. “Come on. Let’s get you spiritually awakened.”

It was rare for Jimmy especially to be so spontaneous, and as they walked through the city streets in the night air, Pete caught an eager glimmer in his eye. Truthfully he was a bit nervous. Jimmy’s interests were unconventional and if Roger wasn’t allowed to know, then surely it was something illegal. Pete started emotionally preparing himself to be lead into an opium den or a summoning of Satan or both. Instead, surprisingly, they stopped abruptly in front of a building with a sign that said something in Swedish. Jimmy lead them in to what looked like a bar on the main floor, but Pete was dragged to the door leading to a back room. The bouncer took one look at international superstars Jimmy Page and Pete Townshend, dressed in their most hip clothes, and let them through the door without a word. 

Pete was met with flashing lights of all colours, a wall of sound, a cloud of smoke, and sweaty bodies. The senses overwhelmed him initially but within moments he found clarity – and was hit right in the soul with Donna Fucking Summer. 

“Come on, let’s dance!” Jimmy started to lead him to the dance floor.

It was a song Pete knew all too well. There were so many people. And he was not a good dancer. “I can’t, I’m nervous, I’m not good enough…”

Jimmy shouted to reassure him over the music. “You’re never going to see these people again in your life. Let go! Feel alive!”

They made their way right to the middle of the whole dance floor where other people – almost all of them younger and better dressed and better looking than them – were expertly dancing with the most hip moves of the time, and Pete had never felt more out of touch with his audience. But they were all here for the same reason; because disco music was fucking good, and dancing was fun. There was no better way to unite the masses than with good music, as per their own personal biases.

_“Sittin' here eatin' my heart out waitin', waitin' for some lover to call. Dialed about a thousand numbers lately, almost rang the phone off the wall…”_

Jimmy took his hands to try and guide him to through the dance moves everyone else was doing. They did some bouncing, and some stepping, but Pete struggled to keep up. This was something he only ever enjoyed in secret. The closest he had ever been to a disco was staring longingly at specials on the telly long after Roger had gone to bed and pretending he could be young and carefree like those people again. And now it was all right here in front of him, thanks to the unlikeliest fan of disco, and you know what? It was fucking excellent. 

_“Lookin' for some hot stuff baby this evenin', I need some hot stuff baby tonight…”_

Bizarrely, Jimmy was a pretty good dancer. He was quiet and peaceful like in person, but moved effortlessly in time with everyone else on the dance floor. Pete got really into it once the chorus hit. He became wrapped up in the music, and being bathed in all the coloured lights gave him the confidence to truly let loose. He danced like a piece of sexy cooked spaghetti, his long limbs flailing passionately every which way. He was hit with the sudden, empowering realization that he was a strong, smart, sensual man who deserved love and happiness. Who cares if it was from, like, five different people. He was worth it. 

_“Lookin' for a lover who needs another, don't want another night on my own. Wanna share my love with a warm-blooded lover, wanna bring a wild man back home…”_

Jimmy took Pete’s hand and spun him around. They got a little careless and danced a little too close for public. People started checking them out, and Pete wasn’t nervous about all the attention for once. This was probably the one place where they wouldn’t be recognized or cared for since their genre wasn’t popular here. It was immensely refreshing.

_“I need hot stuff!”_

They spun around. They pelvic thrusted. They did some pointing. 

_“Hot love!”_

They boogied. They shuffled. They stepped.

_“Lookin' for hot love!”_

As one song faded into another, the dancing momentarily lapsed so everyone could catch their breaths. But Pete felt like he was on fire. None of his silly problems seemed relevant anymore.

He threw his hands in the air and shouted at the top of his lungs over the music threatening to drown him. “I feel ALIVE.”

Outside in the cold streets, Keith stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m bored as fuck. Do you wanna see if we can score some drugs off someone?”

“None of that, I found something that’s way better for your health that you’re gonna love,” Bonzo said, and eagerly pulled out his wallet to find a paper he folded up and kept safely. At the art gallery, he found a poster on a community bulletin board that he secretly stole. He still only had a beginner’s knowledge of the Swedish language, but he recognized one word, the most important word, from the advertisement: hasardspel.

Keith took the flyer from him. He skimmed over it. Obviously they were advertising some event at some place, but he couldn’t make a guess as to what. “Dude, I can’t read any of this.”

“It’ll be a surprise, then!” Bonzo was getting a little too eager, which Keith was more surprised about. “Flip it over, I sketched the directions from Robert’s map so we can find the place.”

The two of them walked through the miniature entertainment district, which was strange, and then past the bars and restaurants which was even more strange. Bonzo was hoping his plan would actually work out. All of his other friends were safe and accounted for, but one of his many goals that he was keeping tabs on was making sure Keith was staying away from his usual cocktail of booze and drugs, since it was clearly starting to take a toll on him. 

Even though they followed the directions down to a T, they wound up in an upscale residential neighbourhood. Keith burrowed his face further into his scarf. “What exactly are we doing here?”

“Your favourite,” Bonzo started searching for the house numbers in the dark. The building they were looking for, a rather ornate looking manor, dominated the street. Bonzo lead Keith over and up to the front door. “Maybe this is just how they do it in Sweden?”

Bonzo knocked twice and let them in. It was more of a residence than a private house, and it had that vague anti-septic hospital smell. A woman in a nurse’s scrubs happened to walk by. She glanced up from her clip board and looked them both up and down. “Besökstiderna är över.”

Bonzo scrambled to think of the correct phrase from the guidebook he studied. “Min svävare är full med ålar…?”

The woman gave them both a dirty look, so Keith handed her the flyer. She took it and examined it, then started pointing in general directions speaking too quickly for Bonzo to keep up. Then, she asked, “Möter du någon där?”

Keith took the flyer back from her, and set off down the hall in the general direction she pointed them in. “Gracias.”

Bonzo followed quickly after Keith. “I, uh, was genuinely expecting something different.”

They turned the corner and saw an elderly man being wheeled in a wheelchair by a nurse in similar garb to the first. They both gave them strange looks, and Keith just marched on. Bonzo started getting nervous because it felt like they weren’t welcome here. The hallway was filled with what looked like bedrooms. Bonzo peered into one just brief enough to see a nurse help an elderly woman into her bed. He started to regret his spontaneous choice. 

“Dude, look,” Keith grabbed Bonzo’s arm and pointed to a room at the end of the hallway with an identical flyer taped to the door. 

“Are you sure you want to do this still?” Bonzo asked nervously as Keith practically dragged him in.

“Well, we’re here, aren’t we?” The same exasperated edge appeared again in Keith’s voice. They marched right into the room, and everyone’s heads popped up. It was your average activity room, with cabinets full of art supplies, tables and chairs, and an old telly on wheels at the back wall. The room was populated with a dozen senior citizens, the kinds who were already on their way to decomposing but were somehow still kicking. They were gathered around the table where one frail old man shuffled a deck of cards. 

Again, they were given an unsavoury look up and down. Before anyone could say anything, yet another nurse with yet another clipboard came bouncing in. By the way she spoke, it looked like she was organizing their group activity, and checking their names off an attendance sheet. She entrusted the man who was shuffling the cards with what was most likely the key to the room to lock up when they were done at the end of the night. Then, she murmured something to the man, pointing at Keith and Bonzo.

The man slowly shuffled the deck and looked at them, examining them to what felt like the very depths of their souls. After what felt like forever, he croaked in a shaky German accent, “Those are my grandsons. I invited them.”

The nurse looked at them skeptically, but to everyone’s relief, the nurse let it slide. She checked her watch and hurriedly left the room to finish her rounds. The room fell quiet as everyone watched her leave. When the nurse was finally out of earshot, a woman with a walker turned to Keith and Bonzo and hissed in a heavy French accent, “Close the fucking door, you buffoons.”

Bonzo scrambled to close the door. Another man who was fit enough closed the door to an adjoining room and blocked it with a chair. A woman instructed Keith to lock the windows and close the blinds. Two chairs were pulled up for them, and Keith and Bonzo cautiously sat down with them. They watched a woman next to the card shuffling man pull a bag of poker chips out of her bra. Another woman pulled a joint out from under her wig. She lit it and passed it around, and everyone who took a hit nearly coughed what was left of their lungs out. Another man rolled up his trouser leg to unstrap a full catheter bag from his leg. Bonzo was about to vomit until he looked closer and realized it wasn’t the colour it was supposed to be. The man held the bag up. “Whisky, anyone?”

Shots of whisky were passed around in paper pill cups which Keith and Bonzo accepted, then they got a turn with the joint. Keith tossed his package of cigarettes on the table as a peace offering. 

“You in?” The German dealer asked the two of them, his voice low and raspy. 

Keith raised a finger. “I am, yeah.”

“So you found our flyer, eh?” the French woman asked. 

Bonzo nodded. “Uh, yeah. I could only read a bit of it, though.”

“They let us open up some of our programs to the community for some outreach bullshit,” the woman who brought the weed explained to them. She spoke the best English of them all. “No one gives a shit about making arts and crafts with us, so we had an outsider advertise our ‘card game night’.”

“It gets boring with the same people that you see all day, every day,” the dealer explained as he started tossing out cards. “Most people who come understand the fine print where we encourage that you bring us contraband.”

Bonzo turned sheepish. “Sorry about that. We’ll make it up to you.”

“So you come again tomorrow night to pay your dues,” the French woman, who was turning more intimidating as time went on, warned them. “If you survive here that long, anyways…”

They launched right into old fashioned poker, and they nearly destroyed Keith. They were kind enough to let Bonzo advise him. Bonzo whispered what he should bet before they ran out of money within their first hour. The elderly helped themselves to Keith’s cigarettes and talked raucously. There were only four other people playing, and the rest seemed to be there just for the good time and the contraband. Some even placed bets on who would win. 

Bonzo was getting nervous and kept helping himself to the bag of whisky. The French woman, Margot, matched him shot for shot. He knew he should relax a bit before he accidentally killed the poor woman, but he couldn’t stop himself once he started, and she remained composed the whole time. Around the round table, people shared stories from ‘the good old days’, when life was simple and humble before the wars broke out. They picked on Bonzo and Keith’s generation, blaming them for ‘horrid disco music’, but even worse, rock and roll. The two drummers kept their heads down.

By pure luck, Keith got dealt the winning hand for the first time that night, and thanks to Bonzo he had bet well and raked in over double the number of his chips. Neither of them thought anything of it, until Oskar, the German dealer, slammed down his hand of cards. Keith almost jumped out of his seat. “You watch yourself now, boy.”

Keith and Bonzo started panicking. It was just a damn game, wasn’t it? Instead, Keith nodded quickly. 

The catheter guy, William, shook his head sadly as he put his cards down. “I fought with the Queen’s Royal Regiment in two world wars just to be treated like this…”

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” Keith said quickly. 

Bonzo nodded. “Please, we mean no disrespect…”

Beside him, Margot clutched her heart and started groaning. “Oh, my heart…you’re hurting me, lads…” She coughed weakly.

“Holy fuck,” Bonzo sprang up, a little dizzy from the whisky. “Is she having a heart attack? What do I do? Do I call a nurse? I’m going to call a nurse – “

In a split second they all dropped the façade and started laughing. Margot straightened herself and jokingly bowed after her performance. “Works every time.”

Bonzo, quite embarrassed, sat down again next to an equally embarrassed Keith. Oskar took their cards back, chuckling, and started shuffling again. “You kids make it too easy. We can never help ourselves.”

Keith could laugh good-heartedly about it after as new bets were made. “I’ve played all around the world with the best of the best, but you guys sure are something else.”

“You think you’re good cause you play a few games while you travel?” Oskar challenged.

Bonzo had the courage now that he had the whisky in him. “Keith’s the greatest. He beat The Old Chinese Master Guy and fought to the top of the top in Las Vegas…”

Margot and William snorted. Oskar leaned across the table. “But have you ever played against Mussolini and his chief team of operations on Christmas day just to win your life back after being captured as a prisoner of war?”

Bonzo blanched. Keith swallowed nervously. “Uh, I can’t say that I have…”

Oskar broke his stern look and started laughing again. “Neither have I.”

Keith and Bonzo relaxed again, only slightly. Prudence, the woman who brought the weed, and her friend Peggy were the only ones who took pity on them. Peggy nudged Oskar with all the might in her old woman arm. “Come on now. Be nice to the kids. They’re our only real connection to the outside world now, we don’t want to scare them off.”

“Are we really the only contact you have from the outside?” Bonzo asked.

Everyone nodded. “None of us have really got any family left, or ones that care enough to visit. Peggy’s got a granddaughter, but she’s off working on another big movie and rarely visits anymore.” Prudence explained.

Another hand of cards was dealt. Margot rested her chin in her hand and sighed dreamily. “I miss going to the pictures, and going to dances…” she suddenly turned to Bonzo and Keith. “Say, what are movies like these days? What are the kids dancing to on the weekends?”

“Movies have been really great lately, man,” Bonzo told her. “Kinda strange though. Kurt Russell’s pretty big.”

“Music’s been better than ever, even though I know you guys don’t like rock or disco,” Keith told them all. “There’s this band called The Who that have been topping the charts, though. Everyone loves them, ask anybody on the street and I guarantee they’ll be a fan. The drummer is practically Jesus. Everyone loves him the most.”

Bonzo nodded.

“What the hell kind of band name is that?” William rolled his eyes. 

“The best fuckin’ band name, that’s what…” Keith muttered under his breath. 

“Um,” Bonzo shifted in his seat. “My favourite band is Led Zeppelin, and everyone is friends and they’re all so handsome and I love them….”

“What’s that about a lead zeppelin? That won’t work, how’s it supposed to float?” Peggy asked.

“My sister died in a zeppelin crash in 1916,” Oskar said.

“Is that so? God rest her soul,” Prudence shook her head. 

Everyone took another cigarette, and conversation continued. Keith and Bonzo exchanged a look. 

Jimmy and Pete were sensually dancing the night away at the disco, but right next door, John was retracing his steps until he found the bar he stumbled upon last night by pure chance. He found the same bartender and through simple vocabulary and a lot of miming, asked him to be introduced to whoever was in charge of organizing the party downstairs. 

John made his way into the dark basement in the middle of the ‘Boris the Spider’ dance fiasco. John sneaked around to the side of the small stage and went up the few steps. There was no one in the wings, and it was too loud to ask around anyways. The floor of the stage was shaking from the boosted bass from the heavy duty amps stacked on top of each other onstage hooked up to the turntable. By pure chance, on John’s side of the stage, there was a table with a stainless steel locked box, foolishly left open for the night. There were more 45’s in there – ‘My Wife’, ‘Success Story’, even a rare original pressing of ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde’. John’s heart swelled with love and pride for the people in the house that were obsessed with him. He finally felt like his work in the band was being appreciated. 

Onstage, Boris was coming to a (sticky) end, and he could feel the audience getting antsy even from his spot backstage. He started scheming up a plan in his head, briefly wishing he had Keith with him to conjure up another one of their classic pranks. It didn’t take him long though, because next to the stainless steel box was one of those red robes he saw the guy wearing from the other night. He got a bit ballsy – being a successful gay stripper in Las Vegas could do that to a guy – and decided to put on a performance for his loving fans. 

The song ended, and the audience’s cheers rumbled the foundations of the building. John slipped on the robe and the hood, snatched the copy of ‘Success Story’, and stalked onstage. A hush fell over the crowd. With his back to the audience, he switched the records. As ‘Success Story’ started, John slowly turned around to face the crowd. He pulled the hood off dramatically. He loosened the sash of his robe and slid it off, falling to the floor and revealing his true identity and the slammin’ outfit he chose that night.

There was a moment of pure silence while the audience came around to a full realization, and then a deafening hysteria broke out. Everyone rushed to the edge of the stage, arms out, desperately trying to touch him. John bounced backwards just in time, nearly colliding with the stereo system on the tiny stage behind him. Whoever the robe belonged to must have been the leader of the cult, and he rushed onstage from the opposite side along with two other henchmen. They dropped to their knees in front of John and started bowing. One guy tried to kiss his feet. 

“Vår hjälte! Vår kristus! Vår frälsare!” the audience chanted. John gazed down upon them lovingly – their beautiful Swedish faces coated in tears of gratitude, their eyes full of love and pain and joy, their hands desperately reaching out for a chance at salvation and christening.

John smiled, and knelt down near the edge of the stage. He took a young woman’s delicate hand and kissed it gently. She melted into his touch, and the crowd went wild. Beatlemania could eat his ass. 

At a hip new restaurant near the heart of the city, Jonesy, Robert, and Roger sat in a booth at the back corner of the restaurant in total privacy. They all had one fruity cocktail each, and were drunk out of their minds (to which Roger attributed to an empty stomach because there’s still the lingering stigma that your alcohol tolerance is directly related to your appearance of masculinity, a perfect example of how gender roles and expectations hurt us all, and a reminder that we should encourage one another to disregard such silly ideologies with no actual root in truth or fact). Jonesy pressed his thin hands down on the table and leaned in across the booth to make dramatic eye contact with Robert and Roger on the other side of the table. “Guys. Let’s share secrets.”

“Oh my god, yes!” Roger exclaimed. Robert clapped excitedly. 

“I’ll go first,” Now Jonesy was chewing seductively on the handle of the little paper umbrella that came in his drink. “I’m in love with John Entwistle. I want to marry him and live in a beach house in Spain for the rest of our lives.”

Roger and Robert sighed dreamily, then glared at one another for copying each other.

“That’s so romantic,” Robert twirled a curl around his finger. “Will you have a big wedding reception?”

Jonesy shook his head. “I planned something small for us. I figured we’d prefer spending more money on an extensive honeymoon backpacking through Europe. We can just elope in secret because that’s more dramatic, but I planned that out too. I put all my magazine clippings and pictures in a scrapbook for planning. John’s outfit will look so handsome and the colours will compliment the bouquet I designed…”

“That’s _so_ great,” Roger smiled warmly. “How many children will you have?”

“We’ll adopt seventeen thousand, probably,” Jonesy turned bashful. “We’ll name the first ten after our favourite female blues vocalists, and the next ten after our favourite French new wave directors, and the next ten after our favourite titular opera characters, the next ten will be inspired by our favourite Shakespeare plays…”

“I don’t see how any of this could go wrong,” Robert said genuinely, and the three men were blushing and giddy in love. 

They ordered another round of drinks. Jonesy was tapping his fingers eagerly on the tabletop. “Your turn, Rog.”

Roger scratched his head. “Gee, I don’t really have anything to hide…”

“Come on, there’s gotta be something juicy,” Jonesy prompted him. 

“Surely you’ve done something scandalous that you just can’t bring yourself to feel guilty about?” Robert prodded.

“Well, when you put it that way, I guess there is one thing…” Roger said nonchalantly.

Everyone leaned in, eagerly. 

A gorgeous waitress came by with their drinks. Roger took his sweet, sweet time drinking noisily from the curly straw and keeping them all in suspense.

“Well?” Robert prodded.

“I saw _The Sound of Music_ eight times at the cinema when it first came out,” Roger said slyly. “And I cried every. Single. Time.”

“Oh my god, _me too_!” Robert squealed.

“Right? Like, proper waterfalls of tears and everything,” Roger enthused, and maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the benevolent spiritual aura of Julie Andrews with them that night, but for a while there he and Robert were actually getting along. “You guys don’t think that’s, like, dorky and gay or anything, right?”

“God, not at all,” Jonesy reached over and held his hand comfortingly. “I think it’s really brave to be a man in a hyper-masculine society and shamelessly show emotions like that.”

“Amen,” Robert nodded solemnly, holding Roger’s other hand so he didn’t feel left out, and then he grabbed Jonesy’s hand too, and they all sat together holding hands for a bit and the waitress came by to see how they were doing but then backed away quietly. 

“Robert?” Jonesy said gently. “It’s your turn.”

They all released their hands briefly so they could drink more and get even sloppier.

Robert finished his drink in one go and slammed the glass down on the table. “I got my dick insured.”

“What the fuck?” Roger exclaimed in an exclamatory exclamation. 

“Last year, I fought tirelessly with lawyers and insurance companies to insure my penis,” Robert explained. “The whole Led Zeppelin brand hangs on it – I use it to secure record deals, discuss finances with management, book stadiums and accommodations, do press releases, interact with fans, do charity work…”

“And, like, it actually worked? It’s insured in case you break it or something?” Roger asked incredulously.

Robert nodded. “And if I ever get an STD, but that’s rare since it’s not hard to practice safe consensual sex, kids.” There weren’t any kids around and it seemed like Robert was directing that to an anonymous audience, but the others just let it slide. “Don’t forget, my dick is also our muse as songwriters. Our discography revolves around references to my penis: Bring ‘It’ On Home, The ‘Lemon’ Song, Whole Lotta ‘Love’, Stairway to ‘Heaven’, The ‘Immigrant’ Song, The ‘Ocean’…”

“Goodness,” Roger drunkenly clapped a hand to his cheek. “This is, like, a whole new side of Zeppelin that I never knew.”

“You’re telling me…” Jonesy said quietly. 

“I just wanted to take the proper precautions and invest in my business,” Robert shrugged modestly, and everyone nodded, showing their respect for such an industry mogul. 

Another idea sparked in Jonesy’s sloshingly drunk mind. “Guys. Guys. What’s the weirdest or coolest thing you have hidden in your wallet.”

Everyone clumsily pulled out their wallets, opened the various folds, and dumped the contents out on the table. 

Roger sorted through his pile. “I have one Russian ruble, and a business card that this one fan gave me at a concert. His name is John F. Kennedy or whatever. I wonder what he’s up to these days?”

“Never heard of the guy,” Jonesy said. “I have a polaroid of John in women’s lingerie and a cigarette butt that James Brown threw on the sidewalk when I hid in the bushes stalking him while he had one coffee and a toasted bagel at a café in Belgium.”

“Oh, would you look at this?” Robert gasped, and started smiling widely. He examined a polaroid picture he forgot he had tucked in there, worn down at the corners. “I almost forgot about this. It was from the day I participated in a women’s lib march ages ago.”

Roger and Jonesy leaned in to look at the small photograph. Robert was in his usual open blouse and his long golden hair floated effortlessly in the wind, pinned down by a flower crown that solidified his position as the prince of peace. He was surrounded by tough looking, hard working women protesting alongside him, all holding picket signs. When they squinted closer, they saw that Robert was holding a hand painted sign defiantly above his head that read ‘MY PUSSY, MY RULES’. 

“Robert, you don’t have a…you know…” Jonesy said quietly. “I mean, you just finished talking about your…”

“That’s quite narrow-minded of you,” Robert turned his nose up. “How dare you assume – “

“I’m pretty sure I know what you’ve really got,” Roger muttered, but then Robert caught his eye and they looked at each other longingly, recalling the days where they were quite acquainted with each other’s penises…on those nights full of passion and love…heat and tenderness…youth and adrenaline…fire and – 

“Why did you do the march in the first place?” Jonesy asked. “For solidarity? To be a good ally?”

Robert tore his eyes away from Roger’s. “To get laid, obviously.”

Back at the retirement home, Keith was finally getting back into his groove and starting to win some serious cash back from the pool. When things were getting really good, Margot interrupted them all with a theatrical gasp after checking her watch. “ _Merde_ , I lost track of time. The nurse comes back in three minutes.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” William tossed his cards down. “Just when I actually start to win…”

“Alright everyone, let’s hustle,” Oskar started giving orders. He was bound to his wheelchair so he cleaned up the cards. Bonzo and Peggy opened the windows to air out the smoke, William washed out the paper cups to rid them of the alcohol smell, and Prudence started throwing everyone mint candies from her purse so there wouldn’t be any evidence on their breath.

Keith quickly tallied each player’s earnings on a scrap piece of paper before pushing all the poker chips into an old dominoes box and hiding it at the back of the cupboard. 

William came back to peer over Keith’s shoulder and check his winnings, which were scarce. “Jesus.”

Oskar took the list from him, and started calculating. There had been a donation box of sorts that everyone contributed to before Keith and Bonzo arrived. Oskar handed out everyone’s winnings in proportion to what they won in poker chips. “William, you get three extra dessert tickets. Margot, here’s a gram of medicinal marijuana. I’m taking this can of beer and this cigar, and you all owe me something next time.”

“I thought you guys played with real money,” Keith fidgeted anxiously. Bonzo kept checking the door for when the nurse would inevitably burst in. 

“I lived through the great depression, you son of a bitch,” Margot slipped the bag of weed between her old lady cleavage. “You think I have cash? Savings?”

“Sorry, geez,” Keith muttered, getting cranky. He was sort of relying on getting the money. 

Just then, another shift nurse knocked on the door. This one was cheery at least. All the residents softened to the demure of gentle old seniors. Bonzo watched a select few gloss their eyes over to look borderline catatonic. The nurse started rounding everyone up to get back to their rooms, and again, eyeing Keith and Bonzo suspiciously. 

“Don’t you worry,” Oskar reassured the nurse before she tried to wheel him back down the hall. “My grandson Kenneth will take me back before he says goodbye.”

The nurse eyed Keith but didn’t see him as a threat, and went to attend to the other residents. Peggy suddenly clung onto Bonzo’s arm. “Be a dear and walk me back to my room? It’s improper for a woman such as myself to be unaccompanied so late at night...”

Bonzo didn’t want to disappoint such a sweet old lady so he wound his arm through hers, and escorted her out the door. “As you wish.”

Keith waited until the room was empty and the windows were sealed shut again before he wheeled Oskar out, since he was in charge of locking up. Oskar pointed him down the hall and Keith pushed him to his room, feeling a bit creeped out now that the retirement home turned quiet and eerie at the end of the night. All these old people and their anti-septic smells, barely clinging onto life with their last grips through one more night…

“This one here,” Oskar instructed him. Keith struggled to turn the wheelchair and get him into the room, but he tried to be as gentle as possible. Oskar’s room was modestly decorated, with a few small picture frames on his dresser, and a sepia photograph of a street in Germany pinned to the wall next to the window. Papers, books, and magazines covered his desk, and a small radio sat on his bedside table. It looked well lived in, and it seemed he was living here for a long time now. Oskar certainly looked healthier than some other people here, how much longer would _he_ have before something randomly happened and swept him away?

“Come here, boy,” Oskar was able to wheel himself over a few feet to his dresser to open the top drawer and rifle through it. Keith stepped closer and saw that Oskar was taking out all sorts of prescription pill bottles. “I’ve got Oxycontin, Vicodin, Valium, Percocet, stuff for blood pressure, stuff for diabetes, stuff for pain, stuff for swelling, you name it. You can take a bottle as your winnings for the night.”

Keith examined a few bottles, then eyed Oskar. “Don’t you need this shit to, y’know, live? I shouldn’t be taking that away from you.”

Oskar shook his head. “The sooner those bottles get emptied, the sooner I get a day out with the hot nurse who drives me out to the doctor’s for a prescription refill. You’re doing me a favour.”

“And no one would notice how fast you’re going through this stuff?”

“No one cares that much. At the end of the day, someone gets my money and everyone goes to bed happy. Or if I run out and wither and die, they can wheel me out and put another bastard in my room and say there’s been a fee hike,” Oskar wheeled himself to his desk to look for a book. 

“That’s grim, dude,” Keith frowned, and pocketed the bottle of Percocet. 

“Once you acknowledge that, you can get the most pleasure from rebelling from the system,” Oskar chose a worn paperback, and sat looking out the window. “And I know you and I are similar in that way. You remind me of all those young rock stars in the newspapers these days, recklessly grabbing everything they can out of life before someone else can take it from them. I would have done the same as you when I was your age.”

Keith leaned back against the dresser and paused for thought. “It gets tiring though, you know? Always chasing and never being satisfied? I’m getting so unhappy.”

Oskar sighed and wheeled around to face him. “I never said it was the best way of life. Just the most thorough. Enjoy your youth while you can. Do whatever the hell you want as long as it feels good.”

Keith shivered. 

They heard the nurse checking the person in the room next door, so Keith quickly cleaned up Oskar’s drug stash while Oskar picked out some pyjamas to get help changing in to. “By the way, tell your moustachioed friend to watch out for Peggy. Her second husband had a stache like that and she’ll go for any guy who looks like him.”

Keith managed a smile, before it felt like he was intruding. He walked to the door. “Goodnight, Oskar.”

“Night, Kenneth. Same time tomorrow?”

“My name’s actually Keith but whatever. Yeah, same time tomorrow.”

“Bring us some booze, will you, Kenneth?”

“Sure thing.”

Keith smiled at him again, feeling a little empty inside, and left the room. He ran into Bonzo in the hallway and they made their way back out the front door where they came from. Bonzo had a red lipstick kiss on his cheek which he was desperately trying to rub off. 

“Did you have fun?” Bonzo asked once they had their coats on again and started retracing their steps to get back into town. “I hope you had fun. I had fun. I thought you’d have fun because it’s your favourite thing and I can share it with you and you don’t have to do drugs or anything to have fun because we can have fun together. If you had fun, that is.”

“Yeah, I had a load of fun. Thanks for doing this for me, dear boy,” Keith spoke slowly, rolling this pill bottle through his fingers in his coat pocket. “Say, did being around all those dying people make you hyper-aware of the fragility of life?”

“I kept zoning out and thinking about the impermanence of it all,” Bonzo sounded relieved to talk about it too. “Like, all these people will be gone any time now. Who’s going to remember them? Who’s going to remember how funny they were, or how clever? Or that they fought in wars and wrote poems and baked really well?”

“That’ll be us one day, Bonzo,” Keith got quiet. “People will forget about us too, and we’ll rot away while other people take our places on the stage.”

“I’m scared of the 1980’s. I don’t think our reign will last until the end of the decade,” Bonzo confessed. 

“I don’t want to rot away and be unable to even feed myself. I’d rather live fast and crash fast.”

“Get thrills, get killed.”

Keith smiled weakly. “I hope I die before I get old.”

Bonzo buried his face in his scarf for awhile, then re-emerged. “Hey, can we talk about something else instead?”

“Yeah. I spooked myself too much.”

“What the hell was up with that guy with the catheter bag?”

“Not gonna lie, that was hilarious. You almost puked for real.”

“I couldn’t believe my damn eyes.”

In the basement of his palace, John was being paraded through the crowd while two people carried him on their shoulders. Beneath him, his royal subjects were throwing a huge fucking party in his honour. The language barrier made it a little odd as he wasn’t sure exactly what part of him they were celebrating, but it was welcome nonetheless. People waved money at him, insisting he take it. Bottles of expensive alcohol were presented to him. While the crowd chanted his name and danced to his songs, John gathered all the money and tossed the bills back into the crowd. He clenched a bottle of champagne between his thighs and popped it open, the spray overflowing everywhere. He held it to his worshippers mouth’s and let everyone take a sip. He got drunk on free wine and an excess of love, and the night never seemed to stop. 

Next door at the disco, Pete and Jimmy were sweat soaked and full of life and pure white hot thrill pumping through their veins. They were the only two occupants in their universe, brought to life only through the songs of their beloved disco queens. The DJ had already announced the last song before the club had to close, but Jimmy had a grip on Pete’s hip like a vice and Pete felt his heart beat in time with the bass in the song, and they had both never felt better in their entire lives. It was a clean slate. 

By now Pete had mastered a few of the popular moves, and was getting better at moving his hips and arms in different directions on the beat. He felt sexier than ever, and the song ended too soon and there was no way he could just end the night like that. The dancefloor cleared, everyone exhausted, and Jimmy had to drag Pete out before they got in trouble with the bouncer. 

They made their way back upstairs, following the crowd flowing outside. At the top of the stairs, Pete hooked his arm through Jimmy’s and made a sharp turn left to the washrooms. He and Jimmy pushed their way through a set of double doors and into a dingy stall. 

Jimmy turned the lock just as Pete grabbed his face and crushed their mouths together, forgetting about John’s allure and Roger’s perfection and Robert’s magic, because right now there was the gorgeous dark haired vixen in front of him who’s trousers he started to unbutton because Pete felt so emotionally raw and spiritually open that he felt that they were _connecting_ on such a deep level and this new bond was something to be celebrated and commemorated, so Pete dropped to his knees in front of Jimmy and lovingly took his cock out of his briefs and wrapped his lips around him, wanting to share his love with a warm blooded lover, wanting to bring a wild man back home. 

Back at the restaurant, Jonesy, Robert, and Roger were on their third drink and losing self control. 

“I just really love John,” Jonesy slurred. “I want to do something big to apologize and show him how much I care for him.”

Roger was giggling, and over the course of their last drink he had leaned back against Robert’s chest and Robert had an arm slung around his shoulders, his face buried in Roger’s hair. “You should definitely do it,” they both drunkenly giggled. 

“But how? It has to be something mega special, he’s _so_ worth it,” Jonesy drawled.

“I have an idea,” Robert murmured. 

“Tell me!”

Robert paused dramatically, then started laughing all over again, which made Roger laugh, too. “No, I can’t. It’s silly.”

“Robert, you’ve _gotta_ …”

“No, I really can’t…”

“Come on,” Even Roger was persisting now.

Robert gave them a sly grin as if he were still contemplating it, then reached for his wallet and left a bill on the table that would cover their drinks and quite the generous tip. “Grab your coats and follow me.”

They all wrestled with their jackets and hats and scarves and gloves, and they stumbled out the front door of the restaurant. The three of them had to cling together to make it down the snowy sidewalk without falling over. Robert pretended to know where he was going until he accidentally stumbled upon exactly what he was looking for – and he quite literally stumbled on the front step. He opened the door for Roger and Jonesy, ushering them inside quickly. 

The tattoo artist at the back of the parlour turned off the sink where he was washing his supplies. He called to them in his thick Swedish accent, knowing right away that they were tourists. “Hey, we’re closed. Come back tomorrow.”

“It’s an _emergency_ ,” Robert stood with his hands on his hips, declaring drunkenly. “My friend has to win back his husband’s love.”

The man contemplated it. “Sounds serious.”

“I’ll pay you double,” Robert stumbled through the parlour to a chair. “Jonesy, take your shirt off and sit down.”

Jonesy stripped off layers of warm clothes until he was totally topless. He covered his nips, still insecure, and lay down on his stomach as Robert instructed. The tattoo artist prepared his station all over again. Roger sat on the chair next to Jonesy with Robert, nervous and excited all at once. 

“What do you want?” the artist asked as he put on latex gloves. 

“I want, um,” Jonesy took a grand total of two seconds to decide what to be tattooed on him permanently. “Put the letter ‘I’, capitalized, then a giant red heart, and next to it, the name ‘John’. J-O-H-N.”

“You’re positive?” the artist asked. He picked up the tattoo gun and turned it on, the buzz threatening them with the often disregarded permanent nature of life. 

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” Jonesy declared, suddenly proud of himself. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the initial stab of the tattoo needle on his lower back. “See? I can be spontaneous. I can be adventurous and passionate. I can be fun. Right, guys? Guys?”

Jonesy popped one eye open to look at his friends on the chair next to him, but Robert and Roger were all over each other as they passionately made out.


	7. let's see action (ft. kc and the sunshine band)

Late into the next morning, the cleansing sunshine poured in through the blinds that were left open and gently roused Roger from his deep sleep. It took him a moment to process that he was hungover, and he had passed out on the couch in the living room. He smiled when he noticed those familiar, strong arms wrapped around him securely. Roger gently wiggled around to see his one and only true love smushed on the couch with him, only to come face to face with Robert Plant. They both looked at each other and screamed. “What the heck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Roger sprang up from the couch, and accidentally stepped on Jonesy’s face while the poor guy slept on the carpet beside them. “Fuck – Jonesy, I’m so sorry, mate.”

Jonesy sat up, sadly rubbing his face. “It’s okay.”

“What were you doing down there?” Roger asked gently, petting Jonesy’s head to comfort him. 

“After we came home you guys started cuddling on the couch and I didn’t want to feel left out,” Jonesy said quietly.

Roger looked over his shoulder, and he and Robert glared at each other. Roger turned back to Jonesy and stuck his nose in the air. “Well, you can take my place. I don’t want it anymore.”

Behind him, Robert’s eye twitched. Roger stood up and huffed, marching back to the first bedroom. When he was gone, Robert turned to Jonesy and gestured to the empty side of the small couch. “Hurry along, then.”

Jonesy carefully climbed onto the couch beside Robert, nervous not to take up too much space or accidentally make physical contact with him. Robert rolled over anyways and spooned him, falling back asleep like nothing happened. Jonesy awkwardly lay there. “Are you asleep – yeah, yeah you are. Okay. Um. Yeah. I’ll just, uh, sit here. Cool.”

Roger snuck into the bedroom, noting that Jimmy had already disappeared. Pete stretched out like a starfish in the middle of the bed, a peaceful smile on his face. Roger gently eased into bed with him, wrapping around Pete and combing his hair and kissing his face everywhere until the smile on Pete’s face widened and he slowly woke up.

“Good morning, love,” Roger sat and admired him as Pete yawned and rubbed his eyes. He looked worn, and his typically soft hair was dried with sweat. “Where were you last night?”

Pete paused, then slowly licked his lips. “Jimmy and I just went out.”

Roger moved in closer, lazily kissing Pete’s face and down his neck. “That sounds fun. Just a bar? Or a restaurant?”

Pete wrapped his long arms around Roger’s waist and pulled him in. “Yeah, a bar.”

“Bit hungover then?” Roger reached up to unbutton Pete’s shirt, which he hadn’t changed out of since yesterday. 

“Quite,” Pete allowed his shirt to be slipped off before he started tugging at Roger’s shirt, which he also hadn’t changed out of since yesterday. “We stayed out pretty late.”

“What did you do?” Roger slipped under the covers and worked on taking Pete’s trousers off, and got carried away with his mouth. 

“We – ah – just had a few pints, _god_ yes…”

Roger removed his mouth briefly to ask, “And just talked?”

Pete grabbed the back of Roger’s hair and pushed his head down again. “There was – oh – no one else that interesting there.”

Roger slid his mouth off slowly, and popped his head out from under the covers. “And you stayed out of trouble?”

Pete propped himself up on his elbows. “Yes, now enough questions.” Pete reached out to take off Roger’s trousers over his casted ankle, which everyone just realized was forgotten about last night but let’s all just pretend that they fashioned a makeshift boot to cover his foot and he definitely hobbled around a lot despite how you remembered the story, rest assured. Pete pulled Roger on top of him, and distracted him by reaching down for his cock. “Why, what did you do last night?”

Roger paused for a suspicious moment. “I remember going out for drinks with Robert and Jonesy and getting quite smashed, but we must not have done much else. I don’t remember anything after that except for waking up on the couch this morning.”

“You’ve got to go easy on those cocktails,” Pete teased him as Roger reached for the conveniently placed condoms and lube in the bedside drawer.

“Oh, shut up,” Roger grumbled, and Pete kissed him lots to apologize while Roger quickly rolled the condom on. 

Outside the bedroom, Jimmy crept out of the bathroom and into the kitchen quietly. He could see people sleeping on the couch, but couldn’t identify which friends they were in the dark, until a curly blond head popped up. “Jimmy?”

Jimmy turned on the light. “Good morning, love.”

Robert yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Where were you last night?”

“We just went out for a drink, is all,” Jimmy shrugged.

Robert lay back down. “Come here.”

Jimmy walked over to the couch where Robert was still using Jonesy as a pillow. Robert took his hand and tugged a reluctant Jimmy over the back of the couch until the three men were crammed horizontally on the same couch. Jimmy tried to lay on Robert as much as he could so he didn’t crush poor Jonesy. 

It was a mess of long gangly limbs, but Robert was clutching Jimmy tightly and refused to let go. At first Jimmy thought Robert was being cute and cuddling with him, but instead, Robert buried his face in Jimmy’s neck and sniffed his clothes. “Why were you at a nightclub with Pete Townshend between the hours of 9 pm and 3 am? And you danced to…” Robert sniffed Jimmy’s shirt sleeve. “Donna Fucking Summer, ABBA, Sister Sledge, and the Trammps.”

“What the fuck,” Jonesy, who was still there, whispered softly.

“You told me to go out and distract Pete,” Jimmy defended. “Plus, I did nothing wrong.”

“That’s _our_ thing,” Robert pouted.

Jimmy lowered his voice. “He needed it. Pete’s still troubled over his thing with John.”

“Still?” Jonesy whispered, crestfallen. 

Jimmy turned to him. “Still.”

“Well, what did you do?” Robert prodded. They were all whispering conspiratorially now, all crammed together on the couch. 

“I, like, implied that he is a free person with agency who deserves to receive all the love he gives or whatever,” Jimmy shrugged.

“Tell Pete to fuck John so we can have Keith for _the plan_ ,” Robert ordered.

“Um, maybe don’t do that?” Jonesy said a little loudly. They both looked over at Jonesy, searching his face to try and remember what subplot Jonesy was referring to. Then, Robert and Jimmy looked at each other and started whispering. 

“I don’t want to discourage Jonesy, but it's not like...” Robert said quietly.

“Jonesy’s our friend,” Jimmy said. 

“But _the plan_.”

“Darling, if we lose Pete to John, we won’t have…”

“Oh my god. Oh my god you’re right,” Robert looked terrified. “Oh god. What do we do?”

“How about you don’t throw me under the bus after our night of bonding," Jonesy suggested politely. “Let me have John back. I’ll keep Keith away so you can finish coercing him into getting J.R.R Tolkien memorabilia for you.”

They all paused. 

“Why didn’t we think about that before?” Jimmy asked. 

Jonesy raised an eyebrow. “Because this is the sloppiest piece of fiction ever thrown together for cheap mass consumption?”

“Also, how do you know about the Tolkien thing?” Robert whispered.

Jonesy gestured to Robert cuddling him and Jimmy laying on top of them. “We don’t really have any boundaries at this point.”

Robert shrugged. “Fair enough. Bottom line is, keep Keith away from everyone but us until he gives us what we want.”

“Does Bonzo count?” Jonesy asked.

“Yes, that’s fine,” Robert said. “I have no clue what’s going on with them ever. It’s never really been addressed in the plot.”

“Just, you know… let it be,” Jimmy sighed

“That’s my favourite Rolling Stones song,” Robert said.

“So everything is essentially back to normal?” Jonesy asked.

“Uh, I guess so,” Robert said after awhile. He stopped to think, then his eyebrows shot up. He eyed Jimmy. “Darling, I have a plan. But I’ll have to tell you later.”

Jimmy buried his face in Robert’s neck. “Mm, does it involve my cock and your – “

“Okay goodbye,” Jonesy groaned and rolled off the couch, not daring to look back. He quickly fled to the second bedroom, slipping in quietly. Bonzo was curled up on his side, still fast asleep on one half of the bed. Keith was reading a magazine on his side, tucked in all cozy. 

“Good morning,” Jonesy said pleasantly.

“Mornin’,” Keith responded. Keith also seemed to be keeping the peace, which gave Jonesy a bit of relief. Jonesy went over to the dresser and dug around for clean clothes. He turned away from Keith and slipped off his shirt. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Keith cried out. 

Jonesy turned around quickly. “What? Are you okay?”

Keith clapped a hand to his face. “Oh my fucking god.”

“What, Keith?” Jonesy started to panic. 

“Turn around for a sec?” Keith said. Jonesy turned his back to him, and Keith felt sick. “Oh my fucking god. Oh my god.”

“What are you on about?” Frustrated, Jonesy went to the mirror on the back of the door and looked at his back, confused at first, until his gaze fell to his brand new tramp stamp. “Oh my fucking god.”

“Oh my fucking god?”

“Oh my _fucking_ god,” Jonesy turned around quickly to Keith. “What do I do? Is it permanent?”

“No fucking shit it’s permanent,” Keith tossed the magazine aside and sat on his knees. “Oh my fucking god.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Jonesy was properly freaking out now. “It’s going to be on me forever and I don’t even remember – “

“Oh my fucking god,” Keith said again, and tried to mentally calculate how much money he brought with him and if it would be enough for an identical tattoo but even bigger. 

“What do I do?” Jonesy started wheezing. He paced around the room. “Keith, you have to promise not to tell John. Or anyone. I mean, I’ll show John when it’s appropriate, like during our honeymoon on the beaches of Spain – “

Keith felt all sorts of angry. “John and I tell each other everything because we’re – “

Beside them, Bonzo rolled over and started grumbling, slowly coming awake. “Guys, what’s going on, why are you yelling – “

Jonesy screamed, which made Keith scream. “Don’t let him see – “

Bonzo sat up quickly. “What? What the fuck – “

From across the room, Jonesy ran and leapt onto the bed like a delicate gazelle, diving straight onto Bonzo. “Go back to bed go back to bed go back to bed go back to bed – “

Bonzo was screaming too, flailing his limbs trying to throw Jonesy off of him, and Keith and Jonesy struggled to pin his arms back but the guy was fucking huge. Jonesy reached over for one of the pillows and his intention wasn’t to smother Bonzo but he did press a pillow against his face and hold it there but he swore he just wanted to cover Bonzo’s eyes but to this day the details are controversial. 

Keith jumped off the bed to go fetch something. Bonzo’s arms flung everywhere and Jonesy started screaming because if he needed to stop smothering one of his best friends but he couldn’t let him see the tattoo. “This is between Keith and I, please don’t take any offence,” Jonesy cried. 

Keith returned with a t-shirt that he started rolling up. He less than gently pushed Jonesy off of Bonzo, but Jonesy was really light and accidentally got thrown off the bed, and to this day the details are controversial. Now free, Bonzo threw the pillow aside and sat up again, gasping for air. “You fuckers – “

“Shh, shh, enough of that,” Keith bro-climbed onto Bonzo’s lap and bro-straddled him. “Let’s play a quick game called shut up for a second, please.” In a swift move, he wrapped the roll of fabric around Bonzo’s eyes and tied it quickly in the back. Bonzo was too stunned to do anything, and suddenly unsure of where to place his hands.

“Keith, this is, um,” Bonzo cleared his throat quickly. “This is a little homoerotic.”

“Everything you love is homoerotic, get over it,” Keith said, but didn’t move off of Bonzo’s lap just yet. 

Bonzo paused for a second, finally catching his breath. Jonesy, half naked, got up from the floor wearily. Keith waited for a moment. Then, Bonzo tried to quickly yank the blindfold off, so Keith scrambled to grab his hands. Jonesy jumped on the bed again for reinforcement, leaning over Keith to push Bonzo down by his chest and the two tiny guys scrambled to pin Bonzo down.

John opened the door, popped his head in, and saw the mild bondage situation going on. Everyone looked over at John. John slowly backed out and shut the door.

“Guys,” Bonzo wailed. He wriggled until he could get his legs free and kick the two of them off, then he scrambled up and took off the blindfold. “Holy fuck.”

Everyone sat to catch their breath. Jonesy retrieved the t-shirt and unfolded it so he could slip it on quickly and hide the tattoo. 

“You could have just asked me to leave the room,” Bonzo looked at them. “Like, that could have been a thing we did.”

Jonesy scratched the side of his head. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. I just panicked.”

Keith glared at Jonesy with a nasty side eye, deciding to project all his angers and insecurities in the whole world on one innocent, lanky man. “Stop wearing my shirt. That’s gay.”

Jonesy looked hurt. “Everything you love is homoerotic, get over it – “

Bonzo had to quickly break up the two before Keith succeeded in wrestling the shirt off of him. He grabbed both of their ears and pulled them apart. “You two, _behave_.” He rolled off the bed and threw on some clothes, then left the room so they could erupt with whatever tension they had going on. 

Instead, Keith and Jonesy eased into a territorial standoff, glaring at each other, although Jonesy didn’t have enough anger in him to keep up with Keith and he started wilting. Jonesy backed up slowly, and started to get dressed again. “Don’t tell John.”

“Why should I listen to you?” Keith maintained the half of the room with the bed. 

“You weren’t supposed to see it,” Jonesy shifted nervously from foot to foot, meekly inhabiting the back corner of the room with the dresser. “I’m just going to play it cool and casually win back John’s love and then when it’s all chill and fine I’ll be like, ‘hey John, haha look what I just got right now just presently’…”

Keith crossed his arms. “If you want to win back John’s love you’re gonna have to be as physically intimate as he wants and that means you’re going to have to go out of your comfort zone which is a bad way to compromise in a relationship, and he’s going to end up fucking you doggystyle at least once, _which means_ he’s going to see the tramp stamp.”

Jonesy chewed on a thumbnail. “I could just keep my shirt on the whole time and tell him I’m insecure.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “He already knows you’re insecure, that’s why he doesn’t love y – “

Jonesy let out a frustrated scream to drown out the rest of Keith’s sentence, which was supposed to be a defiant comeback but melted into a string of garbled curse words that came out all at once into something unintelligible. He waved his arms around frantically, wanting to throw something at Keith’s skull to get him to shut up but there was a disappointing lack of tchotchkes in the room. Jonesy screeched, high pitched and choked. “Why are you such a fucking jerk?”

Keith faltered, but didn’t show it. “You had your chance with John, and it didn’t work out, so back off. It’s my turn.”

“My turn isn’t over, and I still have dibs because the circumstances of our relationship were left ambiguous!” Now Jonesy’s face was turning red with his displaced anger. “You’re the one who blew your chance. You had your chance the last time, and the time before, and every single day since 1964.”

Keith twitched, which startled Jonesy immensely because he had never been on the wrong side of Keith’s temper before. Keith remained absolutely still, which was even more terrifying than a violent outburst. “I know what I want, so I’m going to get it.” He leaned back against the pillows, pulling a classic power pose. “I don’t care if it’s been…fuck, how many years has it been since I joined the band? What’s today’s date?”

Jonesy scratched the side of his head. “I don’t know. Time just stopped being real awhile ago, remember?”

“What the fuck’s up with that?”

“Sloppy writing?”

“Seems like a significant artistic choice, though. Maybe the reason for such an interesting plot device will be revealed later on in the climax of the epic saga.”

“Quite a clever inference there, old chum.”

“Indeed.” Keith shuddered, then regained himself. “Now get the fuck out of my room. And stay away from John’s dick.”

With a new confidence, Jonesy slunk out of the bedroom. Before he shut the door, he tossed defiantly over his shoulder, “Good luck trying to get John’s dick when I’m riding it.” A moment passed, and then he stuck his head through the door again. “And, um, good luck trying to get his heart when I’m in there already. To clarify I view John more than just a sexual object. Okay bye.” He left again. Keith waited a few seconds until after the door was shut before he flopped back on the bed with a dramatic sigh. 

At the kitchen counter, Bonzo and Jimmy were preparing breakfast and coffee in complete and utter dual serenity while the rest of the house came alive, the other six men bumbling around and getting ready for another day. Bonzo carefully spread peanut butter on toast, and Jimmy stirred cream into his coffee with a meditative tranquility. In a relaxed hum, Bonzo murmured to Jimmy, “Have you ever noticed how every single one of our friends are really dramatic? Like really fucking dramatic?”

Jimmy nodded. “I suppose it would be too dull if we were all logical and reasonable people.”

John crept into the second bedroom again, this time clear of everyone except Keith flopped dramatically on his face in the middle of the bed. He went to the dresser to get clothes too; it was okay if Keith watched or didn’t watch, they were close. That sort of thing was fine.

Keith rolled over to see who had entered the room, noticed it was John, and tried too hard to act cool. “Hey.”

“Hey,” John looked over his shoulder, and started taking his clothes off. He suddenly became too aware of Keith watching him, and instinctively started to undress a little sexier than he really needed to just in case Pete was right and Keith still really did have a crush on him after all these years. Then, he wondered why his first instinct was to perform and seduce yet another friend of his. Then, he attributed it to his stint as a stripper having a deep effect on his psyche so he wouldn’t have to consider if he was a bad person or not. Then, he thought about why he desperately needed Keith to be in love with him? There was already two people who loved him deeply, why couldn’t he be satisfied with that? Maybe this was how Pete felt in the past two installments of this series and – 

“Um, how’s the cult?” Keith, master of pick up lines, stammered. He forgot to make it subtle that he was watching John undress.

God, he even had a fucking cult that loved him, and he was still trying to pick up people. Was he trying to make some sort of collection of worshippers? John slowly tugged down his trousers, then playfully turned away to hide the most important features from Keith. “As wild as ever. I have to go again tonight, they’re expecting me. The owner of the place said they could cater tonight, like, halls-of-Valhalla style. It’s the real deal.”

“Dude, I’m so jealous, that sounds great,” Keith feigned a casual tone. Why was he starting to choke up? 

John slipped on a pair of jeans, and purposely spent too much time digging around shirtless for something to wear. He felt Keith’s eyes on him, and he really, really loved it. “You’ll have to drop by sometime.”

Keith fidgeted on the bed. “Yeah, maybe.”

John slowly put a shirt on. “Where were you last night?”

“I was out sustaining my casual gambling addiction,” Keith tried to make a joke but it wasn’t there, and now John was looking at him and he was a giddy seventeen-year-old all over again, why now? Why again? Just because everyone was getting some and he felt left out? Because suddenly there was competition? Or maybe he was finally at the right time and the right place with the right person?

John slipped his hands in his jeans pockets, standing so the shirt that he purposely bought slightly too short would pull up just a little bit and expose some hip bone. If he were smart, he’d stop now before everything fell out of his control. “Yeah? How’d that go?”

Keith’s eyes went right to the exposed skin, a classic trick, but he fell for it every time. He could play along too, he could be John’s rebound. He’d be grateful to be his rebound. “Not bad. I won a bottle of Percocet. We should have a few together sometime.”

John moved in closer. If he didn’t stop, he would surely hurt at least one person, maybe even three in the end. “That could be fun.”

Keith was about to break out in a sweat. He knew exactly what would happen. On those occasional nights together when they got so far from sober they weren’t sure what was real or what was a dream, sure, they got a little affectionate. Really, they were just trying to take care of each other. Keith always drew out the night as long as he could, prodding John and entertaining him so he wouldn’t fall asleep, because once they woke up, John would be off to see another lover and Keith would phone up whatever girl hung around too closely this week just so he didn’t have to sober up all alone. The same thing could happen. Or he could do things right this time. “I’m down whenever you are.”

It was a small detail, but John tilted his head thoughtfully, a mannerism that mirrored Pete’s. Keith held his breath, waiting for something, but this time John withheld from making a move, ending the luring right there. An overwhelming feeling started in Keith’s stomach and made him sick, and it slowly rose to tighten and harden in his chest. If he let John slip away again he’d surely die, he was so unhappy lately and he needed a distraction and Keith was certain that this would be the ultimate distraction, that he could do it right this time. John was really worth giving up everything for, which was a scary thought, but Keith couldn’t ignore it. Plus, what did he have to lose at this point in his life? He was more off the rails than he ever had been, his personal life was a mess, disco music was taking over, they were all getting old, and a new decade was about to begin.

But as always, the thing that got him into the most trouble was that crippling fear of abandonment that plagued him since he was just a kid. John had a history of bouncing back and forth. He was dating Jonesy and trying to win him while still sleeping around, and there were times where John couldn’t possibly deny that he tried to make a pass at Keith but they were too sloppy drunk to follow through, all while still being in love with his childhood best friend? John was the best there ever was, but even still, he had flaws and bad habits and vices that would kill him one day. To Keith, this was frightening, because he was running out of options. He was really relying on John to save him and heal him and make everything alright again. But he looked at John – who made him sweat, who was the last thought on his mind every night, who he loved – and realized John didn’t have a clue what was going on either, and was surely as lost and lonely and insecure as he was. They were too alike. All Keith could think about was how it only made sense that he grab John while they were both successful fucking messes, and they go down together. 

Keith was about to reach out and touch him, but it came out as a flinch. He stood up quickly. “Yeah, let me know. I’ll see you around.” Keith turned away and walked out the door swiftly before he could humiliate himself any further, and regretted it right away, but at least it left things neat and tidy. If it was going to work, John would follow. 

Keith went out to the dining room table, where Bonzo was lovingly handing him a plate of food and encouraging him to sit down and relax. Jimmy smiled and offered him yesterday’s newspaper. Keith quickly checked over his shoulder. John had slipped out of the bedroom and locked eyes with him. 

In the first bedroom, Roger was balls deep in Pete and fucking him with rigor while Pete grabbed the headboard and held on for dear life. They had both been straying too far and Roger decided they needed to be brought back to square one. 

Roger grabbed Pete’s hips hard enough to leave a mark, slamming into Pete roughly. Between shallow breaths, he managed a sexy growl. “You like that, huh?”

Pete was in complete ecstasy and found trouble even forming words as his face kept being ground into the pillow. After his full-bodied high from last night, he floated happily to bed and only got woken up for sex. At this point, all the angst and tension and sadness had evaporated from him. Even his hangover was being fucked away. This was the epitome of happiness.

Roger slowed down just enough to roll Pete over onto his back and fold Pete’s knees up to his chest with a practiced ease. Pete adjusted quickly, knowing he was in for the best part now. Roger slid his cock back in and started moving again, laying on Pete as much as he could. He slid a hand under the back of Pete’s head to support him and kissed him deeply. Roger thrusted the best that he could given he had to balance on his knees to keep his ankle up. 

Roger started hitting Pete’s prostate, gradually getting sharper, until Pete’s mouth fell open with continuous moans and he couldn’t possibly keep kissing. Roger moved down to bite at the sensitive skin of his neck, letting his teeth scrape mercilessly with every thrust. 

“Goddamn,” Pete arched his back, throwing his head back as he felt his climax on the horizon. One hand grabbed at Roger’s hip and demanded more, while the other reached to cling on the headboard again because he knew he was about to be fucked into oblivion. He sank backwards into that heavenly cushion of pure pleasure like he found at the disco last night, all the good feelings and thoughts and memories of his favourite things blurring together. “God, Rog, yes…”

“Go on,” Roger’s voice was ragged in his ear. 

Pete heaved a deep breath that would just barely manage to carry a full train of thought. His eyes slid shut and he drifted away in pure bliss, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That’s the way, uh huh, uh huh…” Pete dug his nails in Roger’s back. “I like it, uh huh, uh huh…”

Roger froze immediately. Pete’s eyes sprung open. Roger pulled off and out of Pete, and in a rush of masculine rage and hormones screeched at an ungodly high pitch, “Is that a fucking disco reference?????????????????????????????!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!MKNJ>WEBrudimd,dfkcm vjnkmlc,;x.;sdvb’vc”

Pete propped himself up on his elbows and started screaming too. He wasn’t even sure what happened and was terrified. Outside, someone else started screaming, and their six friends rushed in to see what was going on, and all eight were staring at each other and screaming, and Roger pulled away, grabbed some trousers and tried to slip them on, except he accidentally grabbed Pete’s and they were ten sizes too small and ten sizes too long, so he kept screaming, fully naked, and went through two drawers to find something to wear, and the other seven were still screaming because Roger and Pete’s dicks were just hanging out, and Roger had to sit on the edge of the bed and carefully pull the trousers over his cast while still screaming, and Pete scrambled under the covers to hide, and finally Roger pulled the trousers on over his hips and could finally storm out dramatically like he meant to, like, twenty seven million seconds ago. 

Six of them all shuffled out of the doorway to allow Roger’s dramatic exit. John was the only one who closed the door to maintain the single shred of dignity Pete had left. Everyone else just stood around awkwardly while Roger threw himself onto the couch and erupted in gasping, theatrical sobs. “Disco music is ruining my _liiiiiiiifeeeeeeeeee………._ ”

Bonzo exchanged a panicked look with Jimmy. “Brunch? How about brunch?”

Jimmy nodded over-enthusiastically. “Brunch sounds good. Let’s do brunch, lads.”

Robert was watching Roger’s life crumble around him and smiling delightfully. John elbowed him in the ribs to get him to stop being so joyful. Keith knocked on the bedroom door. “Hey Pete? We’re going to go out for brunch, mate. Put some clothes on, yeah?”

From behind the closed door, Pete’s voice was small and shy. “I want to die.”

“I know buddy,” Keith frowned. “We all do. But brunch will help a bit.”

After a pause, Pete sighed. “Alright. Be out in a minute.”

Pete started to get dressed, and Jonesy went to go comfort Roger since they were best friends after last night. Robert turned to tug at Jimmy’s sleeve and whisper to him conspiratorially, “Jimmy, baby, _the plan…_ ”

Robert dashed away to get something from the fridge, then loitered around the second bedroom. Everyone else got ready to brave the cold and slowly filtered outside where transportation and a driver had magically reappeared in an unbelievably convenient and unrealistic way because fuck you. While they waited on the front porch for the remaining few to get ready, Jimmy looked nervous before approaching John. “Hey, would you mind doing me a silly favour?” 

John raised his eyebrows. “Hm? Sure, what’s up?”

“I think I should wear a hat after all, it’s colder than I thought,” Jimmy smiled sheepishly. “Could you run in and get it for me? I just finished lacing up my boots and they’re a pain in the arse to take on and off again.”

“Oh,” John reached to take his own hat off. “You can borrow mine if you want, we’re going to be in a restaurant anyways so I can go with cold ears for a bit.”

Jimmy leaned in to talk in a hushed voice. “I’m sorry to be so picky, but I want Robert to see me wearing that specific hat. He knit it for me last Christmas and I kept finding excuses not to wear it.”

John chuckled. “Alright, I gotcha. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Jimmy smiled warmly. “Thank you, John.” He watched John go back inside and shut the door behind him to keep the cold out. Jimmy climbed onto the porch railing to reach the living room window which had strategically been left open a crack. Jimmy cupped his hands around his mouth and performed the call of the black-capped chickadee through the window to signal Robert. 

Robert, who was brushing his teeth in the bathroom, heard the signal and spit the toothpaste out. He finished and left the bathroom just as John went into the second bedroom. Robert went over to Roger getting dressed in their bedroom while Jonesy sat cross legged on their bed and spoke soothing words of consolation. Robert swept in the room and enveloped Roger in a huge bear hug, which frightened both Roger and Jonesy. Robert cooed into Roger’s hair. “Shh, it’s okay my sweet angel pie…my darling blueberry muffin…my delicate lemon meringue…”

“What the fuck,” Roger’s voice was muffled in Robert’s bosom. 

“Are you…okay?” Jonesy asked gently.

“Me? I’m fine…” Robert purred. “Actually, Jonesy, my darling angel baby spice posh spice ginger spice sporty spice scary spice, could you do me a small favour please?”

Jonesy narrowed his eyes, looking uneasy. “Um…sure?”

“Could you go into the other bedroom and fetch my comb? Bonzo borrowed it yesterday but never returned it,” Robert smiled sweetly.

Jonesy slowly stood up off the bed, wary of leaving the two blonds alone. “Uh, yeah. I’ll be back in a sec, Rog, then we can finish talking.”

“Okay,” Roger’s response was muffled as Robert forcefully pressed his face lovingly against his chest. Robert watched intently as Jonesy left the room and turned down the hall. In a split second, Robert released Roger from his grip and started pushing him out the bedroom and into the living room. 

“Go, get in the car, quick as fuck,” Robert ordered in a harsh whisper. He shoved Roger out and poor Roger stumbled on his one good foot, but obeyed nonetheless. Robert pulled out the first chair from the dining room table and spun on a dime just as Jonesy walked in the second bedroom. He bound over to the door behind him and pulled it shut dramatically, just quick enough to capture John and Jonesy’s startled expressions before they were locked in the bedroom together. 

“Dude, open the door!” John was on the other side of the wooden door in an instant, knocking urgently. 

“I’ll let you both out in a few hours,” Robert called over the sound of the knocking. “Peace and love, peace and love…”

“Robert, what the hell?” Jonesy wailed. John started turning the doorknob and made it harder for Robert to hold on. With one hand he kept the door pulled shut with all his might, and with the other he wedged the back of the chair under the doorknob until it the door was unmovable. John kept wiggling the doorknob while Robert left to drag a table and an armchair down the hallway to keep blocking the door with. 

“Come on, man, let us out,” John pleaded. 

“John, listen to me,” Robert tried to stay patient while he barricaded his two friends in total isolation. “You two need this, Keith needs this, Pete needs this, and Jimmy and I need this because I need to meet John Ronald Reuel and tell him something _incredibly_ important…”

“What?” John just sounded fed up. “What the hell are you on about?”

Robert poked his head around to check the front door, where everyone was waiting for him. He spoke to the door firmly but quietly. “You two stay in here and fall in love again. I promise you that someone will be back in at least three hours to let you out.”

“This is fucking crazy.”

“Stop overreacting,” Robert rolled his eyes. “Trust me, this will be good for everyone. I’ll see you in a bit. Take care. I love you both. Bye bye.”

“Love you,” Jonesy called but then quieted down when John shot him a glare. They heard Robert run back out the front to their friends, get in the car with everyone, and drive off while explaining some cover story for their absence. John let out a groan and rested his head against the door. Jonesy started to feel incredibly claustrophobic, moreso now that John was being weird and distant when a week ago they would have broken down in tears of joy with an opportunity such as this. Jonesy began to pace around, growing more anxious. “John, what if there’s a fire or something and we can’t get out?”

“The stove’s turned off, and the fireplace is empty,” John grumbled, moving over to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“What about a freak gas leak or electrical fire?” 

“It’s not a gas stove, and it’s too cold for small rodents to hide in the walls and chew on wires in a climate like this,” John sighed.

Jonesy paced quicker. “What if there’s a medical emergency? I don’t have access to a phone if something happens to you.”

“It’s only for three hours. Someone’s bound to come back after they’re done eating, probably Roger since he can’t really be out in the snow with one winter boot on,” John’s voice was tired, but even still, he was patient with Jonesy even though it was probably very frustrating for him. It wasn’t the first time Jonesy had John sit down and rule out every ‘what if’ that agitated him, usually on the rare nights they got to spend together, Jonesy spent more time panicking and John spent hours calming him down. Jonesy stopped pacing because of the pang in his heart. John was truly a kind man and Jonesy really did love him. “I promise I’ll tell you if I start to have a stroke or whatever, and that’s the only time you can start worrying about me.”

Jonesy smiled weakly, and moved slowly to sit on the bed with John. They were a respectable distance apart, both taking up a reasonable half of the mattress. Finally, they exchanged a look. John had his usual poker face on, and Jonesy felt comfortable enough to show every one of his emotions on his face, begging John to read his every thought and understand him and all the things he couldn’t quite explain. 

After a long, heavy silence, John narrowed his eyes. “The fuck’s that?”

Jonesy furrowed his eyebrows, and John gestured to the bedside table behind Jonesy. Jonesy turned to examine it. “It’s a bucket with…oh my god. It’s an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne in it, and…” he moved the bucket aside to reveal a box of condoms. “Oh my god.”

“Robert…” John rolled his eyes. “…the fucking bastard.” He stretched over to pull out the bottle from the bucket of ice, drops of water rolling down the green glass and splattering onto the pillow case. 

Jonesy leaned in, naturally comfortable with sharing space with John, to read the label. “Well, it’s no Krug Clos d'Ambonnay, but it’ll do the trick.”

“We’re here for at least three hours, may as well,” John shrugged and started ripping off the seal. It would be like the dozens of other times they did this. They’d get tipsy, then handsy, then unsure, then settle for some mutual comfort instead of a fully actualized sexual experience to consummate their romantic partnership. It was a frustrating tango of three steps forward and two steps back. The only evolving thing between them was the relentless passage of time. 

John did the trick he always did, gripping the bottle suggestively between his thighs and popping the cork and letting the foam ooze down the neck of the bottle and over his fingers. It was just like at the club with his cult. He could get people to fall in love with him, impress them with lavish things and his special undivided attention. Then what did he get out of it after?

Like that one of the many young adorers in the audience last night, Jonesy slipped easily into that submissive position of the worshipper. He was good at it, and that’s why John fancied him so much – Jonesy held John’s wrist tenderly, guiding his hand up to his mouth and slowly licked the champagne off his fingers. 

So he had Pete, who he was destined to meet in school and spend his life growing old with, but who was too stuck in his own dramatic fantasies and daydreams, believing that love was suffering and a painful sacrifice, all so he could feel some cathartic glory out of the choice he made years ago and grew to regret. So he had Keith, who he was magnetically drawn to and worked in perfect tandem with, but was caught in his own problems and doubted he was even worth anything good in this world. So he had Jonesy, who was beautiful and smart and kind and everything he could ever ask for in a lover, but who’s own indecisiveness and insecurity blocked John from ever getting through to him. So John had everyone and no one, everything and nothing, and all he got out of this was heart ache and pathetically wanking in the shower the morning after an unsuccessful night. The frustration never went away, and John was starting to wonder if that’s what he was really getting off on after all this time. 

Jonesy took the bottle of champagne from John, holding it up to John’s lips and offering him some to drink, then wrapping his own lips around the rim of the bottle. He calculated his moves, deciding first to finish the bottle between the two of them, and then discarding it on the bedside table again. Jonesy kissed John, and slowly undressed and offered himself to John, and teasingly unzipped John’s trousers, and snaked his fingers under the fabric to stroke John just like he liked. John sat back and let him do whatever he pleased, because he would bet every dollar he had that Jonesy was going to stop after awhile and make up some gentle excuse to spare his feelings and make it up to him with a declaration of devotion, or opera tickets. 

Jonesy blew John with a newfound motivation for success, reminiscent of every first night where you were so eager to please your new lover so they wouldn’t lose interest in you and forget to call you back the next day. John combed his fingers through Jonesy’s hair lovingly like he always did. Maybe he was being too harsh. They always say you shouldn’t rush good things. Maybe John was forcing something genuine to blossom when all it needed was more time and unwavering abstinence. Maybe Jonesy’s stability and tenderness would be good for him. Thrills were for the youth who needed distractions. John should probably focus on finding someone to retire and decompose with. He was getting old, after all. 

Jonesy was straddling his hips, and reached his long, thin arm behind him to finger himself. With his other hand he scraped his long hair out of his face, his forehead and chest already shiny with a thin layer of sweat that came only with pleasure and the pressure to perform. Jonesy leaned over to the bedside table to grab the box of condoms. John grabbed his bony hips, wanting nothing more to pin him onto the mattress and take full ownership of him and his body, but there was an unfortunate moment of clarity as he watched him roll the condom onto John’s cock. Jonesy was a real, emotional person with expectations and hopes and wishes. John wanted him, just like he wanted Pete in the middle of a dead silent forest and Keith after a few pills and a few drinks and his posh bedroom in the flat downtown. Why push monogamy and ownership when John couldn’t even commit to it himself? John slid his hands down Jonesy’s thighs. “You don’t have to do this. Honest.”

Jonesy chewed on his bottom lip, fiddled with the foil wrapper, shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “I want to try.”

“If it’s a big deal to you, we should both take it more seriously,” there John went with the same old script, guiding them back to square one because he still couldn’t convince himself to give up Jonesy entirely. 

“I just want to get it over with,” Jonesy sounded a bit more sure this time. “I think I’m making a big fuss over something so casual. People do this all the time, I’m just thinking of ways to work myself up.”

Maybe this was just a small road block. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he should give Jonesy one last shot. Maybe John just wanted everyone to fucking love him. What was wrong with that? 

Jonesy was looking down at John with those soft eyes, and John could read his every thought. He held Jonesy’s hands and lovingly pulled him off his lap and under the covers, peeling off the condom and wrapping around Jonesy for a loving, excruciatingly safe cuddle that stamped out any fire of arousal or tension Jonesy desperately tried to muster up. Two could play at this game. 

At a wholesome family diner, the other six members of ‘‘‘‘‘The Gang’’’’’’ took up two tables and ate the local fare, complete with crippling discomfort at the hands of your closest friends. 

“I feel utterly betrayed,” Roger declared into his cup of coffee.

“Come on, darling, it was a slip of the tongue,” Jimmy tried to defend, because he felt partially guilty for encouraging such a nasty lifestyle. 

Pete remained icy, stabbing rather violently at his home fries with his fork at the other end of the table. “How did you even know it was a disco song, huh? Got something to come out and say to everyone, then?”

Roger gasped dramatically and let his fork fall, clattering to the table. 

Keith also tried to remain neutral. “Hey, so he’s into some weirder shit than you. You two love each other, you can make it work.”

“That’s so romantic, Keith!” Robert swooned in the chair next to him, then lovingly rested his head on Keith’s shoulder. Keith didn’t know how to react because he loved hot blonds as much as the next guy, but the family at the table across from them were staring. 

Bonzo folded and unfolded his napkin nervously. “Have you ever thought about openly discussing where this problem came from, and why?”

“You guys can do that another time, all we ever do is talk about our feelings,” Keith had played pacifist for long enough, and now rolled his eyes. “Where the fuck did the comedy go?”

The six of them then decided that they were all getting really old and had a lot of serious shit to consider and decide upon for their future which was creeping up on them quickly, which meant that instead of facing their problems head on, they should live the complete opposite of a mature and organized life and instead live impulsively and recklessly to run from their problems. Desperate times call for desperate measures, of course. 

While everyone was paying their bill, Keith and Pete slipped into the single bathroom at the back of the restaurant and locked the door. Keith produced the bottle of Percocet out of his inside jacket pocket. He gave the bottle a shake, eyeing Pete devilishly. “You down?”

“But of course,” Pete smiled. “I consider myself an opportunist, after all.”

The label on the bottle said one tablet for every six hours, so they decided to take two each. They used Pete’s driver’s license as a surface on the counter, and Keith’s copy of the house key to crush up the pills into powder. Pete slipped a fifty-pound bank note from his wallet to roll up while Keith divided the powder into four small lines. 

"Hey Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I'm a jerk?"

"Sometimes, but everyone can be when they're in a bad mood."

"Even if I'm mean to Jonesy?"

"If you feel guilty, you should apologize to him."

"Okay." Keith quickly shrugged off his mood and slipped into the character everyone loved again. He gestured to the lines. “You first, I insist. You’ve had a rough morning.”

“Ah, but you’re having a more miserable time in the long run,” Pete insisted, offering him the note. “I insist, dear friend.”

“Here’s to being fucking cockblocked for a neverending web of tangled reasons,” Keith took the note after all, because he was pretty damn miserable, and snorted the first line. Pete knelt by the counter and did the next line, ignoring the harrowing fact that he didn’t hesitate at all. Silently, Keith took the note back and did the third, and let Pete finish the fourth line. It was all just a bit of fun, after all.

Keith stood up too fast and wobbled on his feet. Pete winced, scrunching up his face as the most unpleasant part passed through, and had Keith give him a hand to help him stand up. Pete threw an arm around Keith’s shoulders just as time started slowing down and speeding up and skidding around in his skull. They grabbed their things and staggered through the restaurant using each other for support, and by the time they got out the front door to meet their friends, they were on the upswing of a euphoria that crowned them the kings of the fucking world. 

Roger and Bonzo had already left together, deciding to walk around the town and explore the more tourist friendly neighbourhoods. Roger hobbled through the snow in his cast that they wrapped in a plastic rubbish bin bag to complete his classy, hobo-chic rockstar look. Bonzo linked an arm through Roger’s to help him keep balance. They decided to look through some adorable little gift shops because Roger wanted to pick up a souvenir for his mum, because he assumed they at least all had mums in this story.

“So,” Bonzo brought up casually after an appropriate amount of time while they looked through window displays. “Are you doing alright?”

Roger shrugged. “Could be worse. I’m fine though. It’s whatever.”

Bonzo held the door open for Roger and they found warmth inside a shop that looked promising from its window display. They walked around, politely looking at the little trinkets and snowglobes on the shelves. A saleswoman hovered nearby but gave them space. She seemed to particularly interested in them, creeping in closer and closer. They pretended not to notice her and kept looking. 

“You sure everything’s okay? We can talk about it if you want,” Bonzo offered again, getting anxious. 

Roger shook his head. “Honest, I can sort it out myself. But thank you.”

“Okay, okay,” Bonzo tried to relax himself. “But if you need anything, please don’t hesitate…” Roger acknowledged him with a smile, and they went back to looking at ornaments and discount Christmas tree decorations.

“Oh, this is adorable,” Roger picked up a small statue of an angel playing a trumpet that was supposed to be charming but Bonzo found it unsettling. Roger checked the bottom for a price, but there was no sticker. When he turned around to ask the saleswoman, she was practically leaning over his shoulder. “Um, how much for this?”

Thankfully, the saleswoman spoke good enough English. “It is seventy-five krona, but…” she smiled coyly. “Since I am such a big fan of yours, you can have it for twenty-five.”

Roger smiled, standing a little taller. He couldn’t help but flirt; she was a cute woman, with a strip of freckles along her nose, and strawberry blonde hair. Plus, if she recognized him as an artist, that meant she wasn’t a disco loving traitor. “Thank you, darling. I can’t pass up an offer like that now, can I?”

She giggled sweetly, and gestured him over to the cash register. Roger turned to Bonzo quickly, murmuring, “Look, I’ve still got it!”

The saleswoman punched some numbers into the till and generated the receipt. Roger pulled out his wallet and felt almost back to normal with the added confidence. Maybe he didn’t have anything to worry about. His status as a legendary rock star would be there forever. 

The woman rolled the little figurine in tissue paper with her thin fingers and perfectly manicured nails, making bedroom eyes the whole time at Roger. Bonzo stood off to the side awkwardly, knowing fully well Roger was in such desperate need of loyal love that he would probably take her right there if Bonzo wasn’t interrupting. The figurine was slid into a gift bag and Bonzo offered to hold it so he felt useful to someone in the room. The woman leaned over the counter, smiling suggestively, and Roger soaked up all the attention, in no apparent rush to leave. Bonzo checked his watch. 

“Could I ask one little favour?” she asked in a dramatically hushed voice. “I have my favourite record of yours in the back, would you sign it, please?”

“Of course, love,” Roger gave her his signature smile, and she nearly swooned with his English charm.

“Oh, thank you, sir!” She clapped her hands together delightedly, then slipped off into the backroom behind the counter. “Be back in a second!”

Roger was totally giddy. He turned to Bonzo. “Isn’t she lovely? I think she’s lovely. I don’t need Pete or Roger or anyone. She’s so lovely and perfect. I could even marry her. I can tell she’ll be the perfect wife. When she comes back, I’m totally going to make a move.”

Bonzo held the gift bag nervously. “Do you have condoms?”

Roger quickly checked over his shoulder to see if she was coming back, then turned back to Bonzo. “I didn't bring any, do you have an extra?”

“I think so, let me check,” Bonzo rifled through all his pockets, just as the saleswoman came back out cradling the album in her arms, the front cover pressed to her chest.

“I can’t begin to explain how much this record changed my life,” she turned bashful. “Truly, your music made me feel less alone, like there was really someone out there who understood me.”

Bonzo watched Roger melt in front of her. “I’m absolutely honoured. The only reason I wake up in the morning is to make songs for people like you,” Roger slyly moved in to rest an elbow on the counter, leaning in to her. “It’s all about connecting with the fans on an _intimate_ level.”

Bonzo and the saleswoman sighed dreamily.

Roger took a pen from the holder by the cash register, tapping the tip against his bottom lip suggestively. He gestured to the record she was still clutching against her chest. “And who should I make the signature out to?”

The woman swallowed. “My name is Hanna. Thank you for this, I’m your biggest fan…” With a flirtatiously pouted lip, she slowly placed the album on the counter and slid the copy of Frampton Comes Alive! towards him. Roger burst into tears on the spot. 

Hannah looked stunned. Bonzo quickly moved in to intervene, wrapping an arm around Roger and quickly moving him away to de-escalate the situation. 

“But, what did I do?” Hannah looked horrified. 

“I’m – not – Peter – Frampton!” Roger hiccupped between genuine, wrenching sobs. Bonzo hurried Roger out of the store and onto the sidewalk again. They decided it was best to just sit on the curb in the snow and have a good cry about it. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Bonzo murmured, rubbing his shoulder consolingly. 

“I’m going to die and everyone’s going to forget about me,” Roger whimpered. “Peter fucking Frampton stole my look and – and – and no one cares about rough and dirty rock and roll anymore and my glory days are over.”

Now Bonzo’s bottom lip started quivering, because this was hitting close to home. “Do you really think so?”

Roger kept crying. “Everyone around me is moving on. What if the band breaks up? What if the others want to go solo? What am I supposed to do? I don’t think anyone cares about me without The Who. I feel useless because everyone writes my songs for me.”

Now Bonzo was crying. “I don’t feel like I’ve made the impact on the world that I’ve wanted to. I don’t know how much longer I’ve got left, anything could happen…”

Roger cried harder. “We tried so hard to change the world, but did any of it work? We let Vietnam happen, the Soviets are planning to invade Afghanistan…”

Passerby started staring as Bonzo started wailing, sinking fully into a proper existential crisis. “I try so hard to help my friends but they still suffer and it’s destroying me. Are any of us really in charge of our destinies, or has all this pain been pre-written for us by some sadomasochistic God?”

“What’s the point in anything if our lives are going to happen whether we like it or not?” Roger wiped his snotty nose on his coat sleeve. 

“What are we even living for if we can’t change anything around us?” Bonzo’s tears were starting to freeze to his cheeks. 

Roger rested his head on his knees. “I don’t actually think disco music is that bad. I’m just projecting my resentment onto an intangible figure so I don’t have to acknowledge my feelings upfront. But the truth is, I’m just scared of growing old.”

“I feel you, Roger. I really do.” Bonzo and Roger clutched each other and blubbered, letting out all those goddamn cathartic feelings right onto the streets in front of everyone to see. 

On a less grim note, Keith and Pete reunited with Robert and Jimmy, and they decided to walk around town as well and enjoy the sunshine. Jimmy and Pete walked ahead, and behind them, Keith cozied right into Robert’s side and got overaffectionate. Robert slung an arm around his waist and warmed up to him right away, and to Keith’s scattered mind he was a never-ending generator of love and passion which was, in its simplest form, all Keith ever wanted as a presence in his life. In order to communicate this and secure his position, Keith looked up at Robert and smiled. “Fuck me.”

An evil grin snuck its way to Robert’s face. “You want to go all the way?”

Keith’s smile turned dopey, quickly giving away the fact that he was high as a kite. “The whole fucking thing. John doesn’t love me and that’s okay because I don’t need him.”

Robert gave him a look. “What ever gave you that idea?”

Keith shrugged four times in a row for emphasis. “I just know it. But I feel really fucking good right now and I know exactly what I want.”

Robert leaned over to kiss his forehead while they walked. “So you’re okay with following through on the little agreement we made?”

Keith’s thoughts bounced quickly from one end of his brain to another. In a split second he remembered the Tolkien thing, realized he couldn’t fulfill it, agreed with himself that it was wrong to make a promise and reap the benefits without completing his end of the deal, debated if any of this was worth it because there were no rules saying he had to be a good person, then he remembered how horny he was, then came up with the perfect plan to get Robert what he wanted before the plan suddenly bounced away like a wayward ping pong ball. Oh well, he’d remember it when he sobered up. “Yeah, I know exactly what to get you, you’re gonna love it. I can even get it to you before the trip is over.”

Robert stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and grabbed Keith by the shoulders. He was salivating. “Can you really?”

Keith nodded five times for emphasis. His adrenaline was quickly building. “Yes, of course, absolutely, affirmative, correct, indeed, positive, definitely.”

Robert was overcome with excitement too, but of a different kind. He could get Keith in a car and rock hard in five minutes, plus a twenty minute drive back to the chalet, then they’d be home alone for a few hours –

“Oh shit, I forgot I was holding hostages!” Robert grabbed Keith’s hand and ran back to the town’s square. “We need a car, stat!”

Pete was floating on cloud eleven, feeling invincible and incredibly content with life. The snow sparkled beneath his handsome boots, the children on the street were healthy and laughing, and beside him, Jimmy Page looked like a beautiful angel. 

“You seem happy,” Jimmy smiled tenderly. 

“Everything ever is really okay,” Pete declared, which made Jimmy laugh, and it sounded like a triumphant symphony to his ears.

“You’re not upset about the thing with Roger?” Jimmy asked gently, and Pete shook his head six times for emphasis. 

“I feel really good. I feel so good,” Pete clutched Jimmy’s arm. “I want to make love.”

“Already?” Jimmy furrowed his eyebrows. “Weren’t you just getting – “

“But like, on a _deeper level,_ ” Pete tried to explain, but his mouth was going dry. “I need disco again, I need to liberate myself, I need to reach that highest realized state of being.”

Jimmy frowned. “Are you sure? This is starting to destroy all your personal relationships. Maybe you should ease off?”

“I need to feel alive,” Pete shouted loudly in the middle of the sidewalk, and Jimmy urged him to quiet down. “Life’s all about gambling. You play hard, and if you win, you rake in double what the average joe gets. If you lose you die but that’s whatever, it happens all the time. But when you win, you really _win_ , y’know?”

Jimmy pulled Pete to the side of the sidewalk and away from passerby. “Are you high?”

Pete nodded seven times for emphasis. 

Jimmy looked him up and down for a quick assessment, but he would probably be fine. He wound an arm through Pete’s and they kept walking. He only just noticed that they lost Keith and Robert. 

“I want to go in this store,” Pete decided suddenly, stopping abruptly and pulling Jimmy inside along with him. Jimmy clued in right away on why Pete was so attracted to this store in particular – they carried obscenely sequined jumpsuits, with ruffled arms and flared legs and deep plunging necklines. Pete floated directly to the mannequins at the back, dressed with duplicates of the iconic outfits ABBA wore on their latest TV appearances. Pete had stars in his eyes. “Jimmy, please, let’s buy these and wear them tonight.”

Jimmy sighed. They were incredibly beautiful handcrafted garments, and at the height of fashion. Sure, he’d always fantasized about dressing like that, but only in private. He was always too scared in case someone found out, even Robert, who shared the same alternative lifestyle. Jimmy checked the price tag and winced, then remembered he was rich as fuck because at least he didn’t smash up his equipment every night in his formative years. But if they started dressing like the disco dwellers, well, they would both be deeper in this than they thought.

“Please, please, please,” Pete murmured, then crept over to whisper in Jimmy’s ear. “If you do, once we get home I’ll…” he explained in detail something he was saving to try with Roger, but maybe a little practice first wouldn’t hurt. 

Jimmy spun around quickly to flag down a salesperson. Pete smiled. 

They bought the outfits in complementary colours of each other. They had the salesperson check in the back for a longer size that would fit Pete, but to no avail. Pete assured them he would be fine even if the legs would only reach his shins and the sleeves would be at his elbows. It was all about _the gamble,_ he kept repeating. Tonight, decidedly, would be the night where things would start changing and the stakes would be higher than ever. Probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't actually snort perks kids


	8. 3 guys 1 saran wrap

Robert and Keith rushed into the chalet, which was eerily quiet. The two of them hurried to unblock the makeshift barricade and Robert kicked open the door dramatically. John, who was sitting on the bed and reading a novel, and Jonesy, who was writing in a notebook, both looked up. 

Robert’s shoulders fell. “Why are you fully dressed?”

John shrugged. “I just wanted to read.”

“Yeah, but why aren’t you passionately making love and pledging yourselves to each other?” Robert kicked his toe into the ground like a sullen child whose manipulative plans never became fully realized. Behind him, Keith, still a little high, crossed his arms, drifting in and out of focus but he knew he didn’t like what he saw.

Jonesy tugged at a lock of his long hair nervously, looking at John. John was playing it way too cool. It was unnerving to the point of being annoying. Everyone watched John leisurely flip a page in his book. “It’s a really good book, I’m sure you’d understand.” Then, John checked his watch. He closed his book nonchalantly and slid it onto the bedside table next to the empty bottle of champagne and unused condoms like it was nothing. “If you’ll excuse me now, gentlemen, I have someone – I mean, something – to attend to.”

Jonesy’s jaw dropped, and suddenly he was invested again. He scrambled up to John’s side as he went to the dresser for a jacket. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Keith stumbled in too. “I was already invited to come along to _the secret thing_ , and I know what it is because John personally invited me because he likes me better and we’re – “

John peacefully walked away from the two, knowing Keith would probably throw a punch the second he left the room, and couldn’t, for the life of him, see a reason to break up two men fighting for his love. “I’ve got to do this one alone, but I look forward to spending time with you two afterwards.”

John slipped out of the room, and Robert rushed out to follow him. The moment they were alone, Keith and Jonesy were at each other’s throats and it wasn’t even in a sexy way or anything. 

“Tell me what the secret thing is,” Jonesy demanded.

“I’ll never tell you ever,” Keith tried to dash past him and catch up to John, but Jonesy beat him to it and blocked the doorway. 

“Who’s he seeing?” Jonesy tried again, and Keith grew more frustrated.

“Someone better than you,” Keith tried, but Jonesy just rolled his eyes.

“That just implies that it’s someone better than you too,” Jonesy crossed his arms, and Keith pushed past him and left the room just as Robert was running to catch up with John, who was lacing up his boots. 

“Why didn’t you fuck Jonesy?” he also demanded. 

John shrugged again. “I didn’t want to.”

“What do you mean?” Robert shrieked. “You have to, you guys are in love.”

“I think I know what I want and don’t want,” John said. 

“No, I decide everything for everyone here, or else you’re all getting barricaded again,” Robert was starting to look manic. Keith was about to walk in to the living room, but opted to hide in the hallway instead to eavesdrop. Robert tried to plead with John. “Go rekindle the flames of desire you have with Jonesy. I need you two together.”

“What the hell are you on about?” John was growing more suspicious by the second. 

“Just do this for me,” Robert urged him. Keith nervously chewed his lip, waiting for John’s response. 

John just sighed and shook his head. “I’m going out for the night. I’ll see you later.” Robert let out a frustrated groan. Keith was relieved, only temporarily. Robert rushed back to the bedroom and started grilling Jonesy now, which Keith sat back and watched with glee. 

“Why didn’t you put John’s dick inside of you!” Robert cried.

“I _tried_ ,” Jonesy protested. He lifted his chin in the air. “He preferred to talk and have a cuddle, and I respect that.”

“So he pulled the move you always pull on him?” Keith chimed in.

Jonesy lunged for Keith, but thankfully Robert intercepted. “Try harder next time! Don’t forget _the plan_.”

“What plan?” Keith demanded. 

“I’ll never tell you ever,” Jonesy said from over Robert’s shoulder as he was being held back. Now Keith lunged at Jonesy. It was a mess. 

This all happened while Roger and Bonzo had made their way home, feeling an intense resolute calm that came after frantically sobbing about the existential questions of life in the middle of the street in a nondescript Swedish town. Bonzo sat on the carpet and unlaced his boots, soaked through from the snow. Roger cut off the garbage bag they wrapped tightly around his cast as a makeshift boot with the kitchen scissors. 

While Robert, Keith, and Jonesy were shouting in the other room, Bonzo gestured to Roger’s cast. “How’s your ankle holding up, by the way? You seem to have ignored the fact that you’re not allowed to put weight on it while it heals.”

Roger smiled and scrunched up the garbage bag to throw it out. “Every step I take fills me with overwhelming pain but I persevere through it for artistic inspiration.”

Bonzo nodded. “That’s hardcore, dude.”

“Or do you think it’s sloppy writing?”

“Hey, go easy. It’s all symbolism for something, I’m sure.”

Jonesy stormed out of the bedroom in a dramatic huff, followed by Robert who had to storm out in a more dramatic huff, and followed by Keith who stormed out in a genuinely distressed huff. They ignored Roger and all swarmed Bonzo, who was the steadiest and wisest friend they had ever known. Bonzo smiled to himself, happy to be wanted and needed. Roger didn’t mind at all when he saw that secret smile, and pretended to be busy washing up in the kitchen. 

“Bonzo,” Robert whined melodramatically, tugging on his sleeve. “I have everything in the world plotted out perfectly except no one is doing things the way I want them to do it.”

Bonzo patted his disciple’s head. “Take the evening off and relax. Everything will work out the way it should in the end. You’re a good person therefore you’ll get the good things you deserve.”

“Bonzo,” Keith whined melodramatically, tugging on his other sleeve. “I have so much anger and resentment in me and it’s spoiling my relationships with the people I love.”

Bonzo patted his disciple’s shoulder. “You can start making peace within yourself about the things you can’t change. Acceptance and love will come in baby steps.”

“Bonzo,” Jonesy whined melodramatically, tapping insistently on his shoulder. “I’m not the person I used to be. I think I’ve changed into someone I don’t like.”

Bonzo rested a hand gently on his disciple’s cheek. “Surround yourself with the people and things that ground you and remind you of who you want to be.”

Everyone collectively took a step back and sighed, the unanimous tension dissolving. Roger casually joined them again, wanting to take part in the spontaneous spiritual healing session in the middle of the living room. Some things you can’t plan, I guess. 

Robert combed through his hair, lost in a ruminating thought about St. Bonham’s wisdom. “I can dig it. It’s almost, like, all you need is love, you know?”

“Truly,” Jonesy agreed. Keith remained silent, chewing on a thought. 

“Hey, that’s kind of catchy, isn’t it?” Robert smiled. “’All you need is love’. That could be a song or something. I should talk to Jimmy about writing it together.”

Jonesy sighed. “I have some bad news for you there, Robert.”

“So where do we go from here?” Roger invited himself into the conversation because he was also spiritually awakened, but just a chapter before everyone else. 

The disciples looked to their leader. Bonzo cleared his throat. “Robert, how about you go out to a movie or something? Get loads of snacks. Treat yourself.”

Robert nodded. “That I can do.”

“Can I go too?” Roger asked. “I’ve decided I’m not angry at Robert anymore. Life is too complicated as it is.”

Robert shot him a nasty look but it dissolved. Truly, he didn’t feel that angry anymore either. 

Bonzo looked unsure. “You really need to rest your ankle, Roger. You’re probably only making it worse going out all the time and walking through the snow like that.”

“I promise to keep my leg elevated in the movie theatre,” Roger grinned.

“Alright, alright. Go on. Have fun.”

Jonesy looked hopeful again. “Hey, Bonzo? How about we hang out again like we used to? Y’know, so I can ground myself? I’ve been neglecting you in the pursuit of all this tantalizing drama.”

Bonzo frowned, looking at Keith. “I’m really sorry, but this is truly the only time I can’t hang out. Keith and I have our… _thing_ that only happens at a certain time every night…”

Poor Jonesy looked like he might actually cry. “Why is everyone hiding secret Things In Italics from me all the time?”

Keith, wanting to better himself, genuinely felt bad that he kept stealing Johns from the poor guy. “Hey, man, I’m sorry. It’s just poor timing, I promise. He’s all yours after tonight. We’ll even get in at a reasonable hour.”

Jonesy searched Keith’s face for any indication of nastiness or sarcasm, but instead only found unrestrained sympathy in his eyes. When his face wasn’t set firmly in a scowl or roughened by a bender with drugs or alcohol, he still had that charming, boyish look about him like he did a decade ago. Jonesy squared his shoulders and nodded, deciding to be diplomatic with Keith this time. That’s what he would have done, when he used to be a humbler person. “Sure. That sounds good. Have fun tonight.”

Keith nodded back, acknowledging his decision. It was all fine and good until Robert butt in again, an index finger pointed obnoxiously. “Actually, Keith, didn’t you say you were going to get a certain _thing_ for me so I could do a certain _thing_ for you?” He looked over at Jonesy quickly. “No offense, Jonesy.”

Jonesy sighed.

“Oh, fuck,” Keith remembered the declaration he stupidly made when he was high, then composed himself so Robert wouldn’t know he made a stupid declaration when he was high. He fabricated a story on the spot. “I mean, yes. That’s what Bonzo and I are doing tonight. I contacted an old friend of John Ronald Reuel’s who lives near here, actually.” Keith broke out into a sweat. He was digging himself deeper into a hole he knew he couldn’t get out of. “I can get you exactly what you need by the end of the night.” To be fair, Keith never claimed himself to be a smart man. “I promise. Then we can get to that _thing_ as my reward. No offense, Jonesy.” Smart, no; but Keith was a damn good improviser at least. 

“So you’re serious this time? It’s actually happening?” Robert got that scarily aroused look in his eyes. He clutched Keith’s shoulders. “Maybe I should skip the movie and go with you, then? Then Bonzo can spend time with Jonesy after all.”

Keith froze, then tried to shrug him off casually. He couldn’t stop the web of lies. “No, no, go out and have fun. I need Bonzo with me. We’ll have a lad’s night out of it.”

Jonesy didn’t intend to be a pain, but he was unaware of all the sneaking around going on. “So, wait, is this related or unrelated to the secret thing that happens at a certain time every night? How often do you visit this guy?”

Keith swallowed quickly, starting to waver under the pressure. St. Bonham saw his friend sinking and threw him a lifeline. “It’s unrelated. Anyways, Robert, I need to go with Keith to act as a language interpreter.”

Keith beamed with pride, patting Bonzo on the shoulder jovially. “Yes, that’s _exactly_ it. Bonzo here is very correct. Completely truthful.”

Robert couldn’t be bothered to make more of a scene out of it. He shrugged, already getting bored. “Sure, I trust you. I’ll just eagerly await my gift. There’s nothing I hate more than people who break their promises.”

“Yep,” Keith’s voice cracked. 

Bonzo quickly ushered everyone out of the living room. “Go on now, everyone go get ready. Roger, go cover up your cast even though you just unwrapped it, like, five seconds ago.”

A bored Robert decided to reset his targets for the night. He snaked his arm through Roger’s. “Let me help you, darling.”

Jonesy shifted uncomfortably, looking at Roger and Robert. “Can I come with you guys? I’m not really anyone’s priority at the moment.”

Roger frowned, and Robert was sympathetic because Jonesy was a real cool cat and should never feel this poorly. Roger took his hand, and they all made their way to the first bedroom, and only Jonesy noted how homoerotic that might look out of context, but he wasn’t about to point it out and blow the last chance of intimacy he may ever get in his life. 

Again, very homoerotically, Robert playfully pushed Roger down onto the bed. Jonesy quickly shut the door behind him. Considering the seven other men in their circle, blatant homoeroticism wasn’t anything new or surprising, although it was the first time Jonesy was involved as a spectator in something so scandalous and impure as the dalliances the two singers and the two lead guitarists had going on with each other. 

Giggling, Robert knelt in front of Roger and rolled his trouser leg up to reveal the cast. Somehow even that was sensual. “What should we wrap it with? We can’t let poor Roger go out another day with a garbage bag on him. He deserves better.”

The two blonds turned to Jonesy, who they decided was the brains of the operation. Jonesy cleared his throat. “Erm, maybe start with a layer of plastic wrap? I assume that would protect against the snow?”

Roger leaned back on his elbows, his curls tumbling over his shoulder, looking way too sexy for such a casual scenario such as this. “What a brilliant idea, Jonesy.”

Jonesy nodded quickly. “I’ll, uh, go get it, then.” He slipped out of the bedroom, feeling incredibly awkward as he was intrigued, and took his time fetching the plastic wrap from the unfamiliar kitchen. Keith and Bonzo had already mysteriously disappeared so he couldn’t ask them if they had seen it, but eventually he found it in the drawer by the stove where the cooking utensils were which didn’t make any sense _at all_ because every kitchen should have a separated space for every different type of kitchen supply and if anything the plastic wrap should be stored out of the reach of the more frequently used objects and perhaps in the third or fourth drawer with the aluminum foil and the plastic baggies and twist ties because that made _sense_ and everything in the world had to make sense and be neat and tidy and organized, and as Jonesy walked back to the bedroom he pledged to organize the whole kitchen sometime before they left, and Jonesy opened the door to find Robert sucking Roger’s cock, and then promptly closed the door again. “Oh my god.”

“Sorry,” Roger called from inside the room. There was some shuffling, and then, “I put it away, it’s safe to come in now.”

Jonesy walked in and shut the door again behind him – wishful thinking? – and kept his head down, awkwardly avoiding the obvious (and massive) erection Roger had poorly concealed in his jeans. Robert moved out of the way and Jonesy kneeled in front of Roger and started tightly wrapping the plaster cast in the plastic wrap to waterproof it. Robert sat on the bed with Roger, idly playing with Roger’s hair to distract himself. “Jonesy, where does your fear of intimacy stem from?”

Jonesy looked up. “Are you really going to psychoanalyze me right now? Right this very moment?”

Robert shrugged. “I’m _in the mood_ …”

Jonesy fumbled with the plastic wrap, trying to focus on the original task but now felt uncomfortable with all the attention on him. “I don’t think it derives from some dramatic childhood trauma or anything. I just don’t know how to act in intimate moments or whatever. I rarely feel comfortable enough with anyone for that sort of thing, unless it’s someone I really know and trust.”

Robert was delighted simply that he could get Jonesy to open up so easily, and Roger was actually sympathetic. He nodded, trying to understand. “So you’re better off with a lover as long as you were friends before?”

Jonesy sighed, thinking of John. “Yeah, I guess so, when you put it that way.”

“You sweet little thing,” Robert now lay on his stomach, dangling off the end of the bed where Jonesy sat. “You tender little darling. Your heart is so pure. Isn’t he so genuine, Rog? So golden?”

Roger smiled. “He sure is. I love him dearly for it.”

Jonesy looked down, hiding his face from them as he clumsily tore the plastic wrap from the roll and plastered the loose end against the cast. 

“My heart breaks hearing his adventures in love go so poorly, he only deserves the best,” Robert mused to Roger as if Jonesy weren’t even there at all. “Sort of makes me want to show him a good time to make up for all his hardships.”

“Oh, look, you’ve made him blush,” Roger chuckled, then leaned forward. He placed a finger under Jonesy’s chin and gently tilted his head up for them to see, his whole face tinted in crimson. “We’re just teasing, darling.”

“Unless, of course…” Robert gently pried the plastic wrap from Jonesy’s grip and tossed it aside. “…you prefer we don't tease you?”

Jonesy swallowed quickly. “What about Roger’s cast? Or the movie?”

“The cast and the movie will still be there in an hour,” Roger assured him. Robert elbowed Roger. “Er, a few hours.”

“What about John?” Jonesy asked as Robert took his hand and pulled him up onto the bed. 

“Are you really worried about a bunch of sleazy rock stars being faithful?” Robert purred, and the blonds rearranged on the mattress to fit little Jonesy in the middle. 

Why him? Why now? Jonesy lay back, and Roger curled around him, comfortingly rubbing his shoulders and back. Since when? For how long? Robert’s fingers snaked their way into Jonesy’s long hair, lovingly combing through his mousy locks. Was it out of pity? Just to pass some time? Was this some divine learning experience for him? Was he supposed to grow into be more spontaneous? Recklessly leaving himself open and vulnerable just for the sake of living? The old Jonesy wouldn’t have ever acted like this, making love was supposed to be clean and tidy and with one person, preferably a girl but times were changing, but he still held monogamous faithful values because that’s what he believed to be true, but what did any of that mean anymore? Maybe there was a reason no one practiced that way of life anymore, maybe it was time he did some catching up, maybe people would like him more if he was sluttier and more emotionally vulnerable and spontaneous and …

“Stop thinking so much,” Robert murmured, moving in to kiss Jonesy’s forehead, where he could practically hear the gears working from where he lay. 

Jonesy was surrounded by love and warmth, and he felt safe and secure, which of course, made him feel nervous for god knows what reason this time. He desperately wished he could relax. There were certainly worse positions he could be in right now. “Sorry, I can’t do a single thing in life without overthinking it.”

“Don’t apologize,” Roger said kindly, giving him a squeeze.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, then realized he apologized again. “Sorry – fuck.”

“Angel,” Robert laughed softly. He gazed lovingly into Jonesy’s eyes, and it was so intense Jonesy had trouble even keeping eye contact, instinctively wanting to flee and hide away from everything intense. From behind, Roger’s hand found it’s way into Jonesy’s and held it. Jonesy took a deep breath, and decided to stay. 

“We can go to the movie if you’d like,” Roger suggested tenderly. 

Jonesy leaned back into Roger, and tangled his legs with Robert’s. “The movie can wait.”

Robert grinned devilishly. He moved in closer and kissed Jonesy’s cheek, then his jaw. Roger buried his face in the back of Jonesy’s neck. Shyly, Jonesy wrapped his other arm around Robert’s middle. Robert moved Jonesy’s hand down lower to his waist. 

For this moment, Jonesy considered just letting it happen. He was in good hands. The only dilemma he truly had was deciding who to kiss first. Robert was alluring and seductive on a level way beyond anyone else Jonesy could realistically obtain, and Roger was always kind to him and understood what it meant to be a deeply emotional person. He could ignore John and Keith and Bonzo for the time being. He could be spontaneous and fun and naughty. 

“ _Relax,_ ” Robert teased him. Jonesy had hands moving on him from either side. He was wanted. He was needed. Robert pressed his hips against Jonesy. Roger hooked a leg over him and grabbed his face in his large hands, solving all his problems and kissing him first, lovingly and warm to ease all his worries.

It was weird, and good, quite good, and Roger’s mouth tasted good, and Jonesy realized that he was getting better at kissing other men. From behind, Robert’s hands snaked around Jonesy’s hips and under his shirt, fingers tracing teasingly on his delicate skin. As Roger’s tongue slipped into his mouth, Robert’s hands debated going lower or higher, and decided instead to pull his shirt off first. 

Jonesy temporarily broke away from Roger’s mouth, and away from the otherworldly sensuality that the two blonds enveloped him in, to quickly finish pulling his shirt over his head. Robert sat up and was pulling Jonesy between his legs, wrapping his limbs around him and meeting him with a deep, open mouthed kiss. Jonesy felt that pure, unadulterated, but _safe_ thrill start from his stomach and run through his body, just like when he went skiing. He could do dangerous things and survive. He could – 

“Oh my _fucking_ god,” Roger cried out suddenly, breaking the blissful daze. “Jonesy, your _back_ …”

Jonesy yelped and scrambled to cover the tattoo, but Robert was insistent to see, and with some manoeuvering he managed to pin Jonesy facedown on the bed and straddle his arse in an extraordinarily sexual way, examining the tramp stamp. “Jonesy, _oh my fucking god_.”

“We’re not doing this again,” Jonesy’s voice was muffled from being buried in the comforter.

“When did you get that?” Roger asked incredulously, an adorably worried expression on his face. 

“I discovered it the morning after we went out for cocktails,” Jonesy started wriggling under Robert, and finally Robert got the hint and climbed off him. Jonesy sat up again quickly, and the three of them stared at each other. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you guys remember anything about me getting it, because I sure don’t.”

Roger looked nervous. Robert scratched the back of his neck. “That night was a bit of a blur, I’m afraid.”

“Does John know about it?” Roger asked. 

“Not yet, and no one is allowed to tell him,” Jonesy warned. “I’ll probably show him on our wedding night.”

“Good luck,” Roger murmured. “Gee, I sure hope I wasn’t the one who convinced you to get it.”

Jonesy crossed his arms over his chest, feeling insecure about his weirdly small nipples again. “I was kind of hoping someone else made me do it, I never thought drunk-me would be that kind of wild person.”

They turned to Robert. 

“What?” he asked innocently. 

“Well, you are known for convincing people to do crazy things, is all,” Roger suggested, trying to stay neutral.

Robert shrugged it off. “The classy tramp stamp is the truest testament that we all do crazy things for love.”

A silence fell between them, and they all shivered because it was true. 

“Anyways,” Robert continued, ruining the poetic beauty of truth. “If I _hypothetically_ got wasted and took us all to a tattoo parlour and told Jonesy to go sit down on a bench and convince a tattoo artist to tattoo dear sweet Jonesy, was it really my fault? Did I force the ink into his skin? Did I convince him to get ‘I heart John’ inscribed on him? Is there such a thing as freewill? Who am I to tempt the destiny written for us by the universe or even a god or goddess? What does it mean to be a rock and not to roll?”

“Nope, no more existential questions, I’ve had enough for one day,” Roger shook his head; his metaphorical tears from his heart to heart with Bonzo on the sidewalk hadn’t fully dried yet. He rolled off the side of the bed but he forgot about the plastic wrap and almost slipped on the carpet. “Fuck, I forgot about the cast!”

“Oh right! We should finish wrapping that up before we go out,” Robert laughed carefreely. He patted the bed, encouraging Roger to sit down again. Robert started prancing around the room, rifling through the closet and the dresser. He pulled out a long, beautiful orange scarf and knelt in front of Roger again, and started wrapping that around his cast. “There, maybe this will keep you protected against the cold snow.”

“And maybe a bit of cushioning?” Roger speculated. 

“Uh, yeah,” Jonesy just sat there, half naked, again. “I thought we were holding off on going out…?”

Roger glanced quickly at the clock. “We should get a move on soon, though. We might be able to get into town in time to catch an 8 or 9 o’clock show.”

“Yep,” Jonesy said, reaching for his shirt again and slipping it on. “Yeah, good thing we passed a bit of time, that was fun, that was a completely normal chain of events between friends…”

“Wait, I feel like we need to wrap it one more time with something,” Roger suggested. 

Robert furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Like, the scarf is just going to get snow stuck to it, and when we get inside the snow will melt and just get the scarf all soggy and ruined.”

“Maybe we should kiss again, that was cool,” Jonesy suggested very quietly. 

“Well, what else should I put on it?” Robert asked, getting a little annoyed. 

“I was actually fine with the garbage bag around it, it’s practical and disposable,” Roger told him.

“Roger, it’s incredibly tacky. You spend all day crying about wanting to be immortalized in history, but no one will want to if you literally wear a garbage bag out in public.”

Jonesy piped up again. “If it’s too much of a hassle to figure this out, we could always stay in and kiss some more…”

“Robert, what the hell?”

“I’m just being honest. I respect you too much to let you go outside looking like that.”

“You…respect me?”

Robert batted his eyelashes. “I do. I really do.”

Roger bit his bottom lip. “Oh, Robert…that’s so hot…”

Robert gave him a smoldering smile. “I know.”

Roger swooned and threw himself into Robert’s arms two feet away from him on the bed. Robert clutched him and kissed him passionately. Jonesy sighed with relief once their potential sexual dalliance was back on track. He took off his shirt again. 

“Mm,” Roger broke away from the kiss. “But if we’re being honest, I still think the garbage bag is the best route. I’m sorry it’s not glamorous but it’ll do the trick.”

Robert waved a hand dismissively. “Honestly? I’m over it. I hope you realize that I don’t actually know what I’m doing. I’ve never broken a bone before in my life.”

“I figured,” Roger shrugged. He turned to look at Jonesy. “Jonesy, sweetheart, that’s a really good look for you, but you might want to bundle up. It’ll get chilly later tonight.”

“Yep,” Jonesy said quickly, and put his shirt back on. Robert went to go fetch the garbage bag, and Roger unwrapped the scarf and the plastic wrap after all. They were right back to square one. 

In the middle of town, Jimmy and Pete discretely slipped into a corner store before it closed, smuggling in the bag of clothes they just bought and bottle of liquor that Pete was in the middle of stuffing down his trousers in the middle of the snack aisle while Jimmy blocked the store owner from seeing them when they crashed into none other than John Entwistle.

“John Entwistle, what are you doing here?” Jimmy exclaimed. 

John looked Jimmy up and down. “Sorry, I was just searching for that hat of yours.”

Jimmy cringed. “Listen, John, I’m really sorry about all that, I was just trying to help Robert…”

“It was awful. I had to think about my feelings and stuff.”

“I know, I know. We all do crazy things for love, right?”

Pete turned around, displaying the mickey of liquor clearly outlined in the front of his trousers. “What do you think? Can you tell anything’s there?”

John licked his bottom lip. “Might have to examine that for myself.”

“Whatever,” Jimmy handed the bag to Pete. “The washroom is in the back corner. Go change first, and then leave the bag in there for me. We can hide our street clothes somewhere when we’re done.”

“What are you guys doing?” John asked innocently, but Jimmy and Pete both froze. 

“Nothing,” they both chorused.

“That obviously means you’re doing something sketchy, which means it’ll be really damn interesting,” John tried, but they wouldn’t budge. “Come on, I just want to know between friends and all. I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything.”

The two exchanged a look, and Pete pretended to be casual about it. “Y’know. Just stuff and things. Super macho manly cool stuff.”

Jimmy jumped right in. “Why, what are you doing?”

John mimicked them. “Nothing.”

Pete pouted. “Come on, tell us. We’ll tell you.” Jimmy elbowed him, and he ignored it.

“Fine,” John stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m going to meet up with a cult of people who worship me. We’re going to have dinner.”

The two of them laughed. “That’s a good one. But seriously, where are you going?” Pete asked.

“What? You don’t think I can have a cult full of worshippers?”

“John, I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just kinda funny in hindsight…”

Jimmy tried to be nice to John after being involved with the good-natured hostage situation. “Look, Pete and I are going out dancing, is all. Pete even convinced me to get proper outfits so we look like we belong in ABBA.”

Pete chimed in quickly. “But we’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else.”

“Sure thing,” John tried to supress a smile. “I mean, yeah, that sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Now you tell us,” Pete insisted. 

“Well, like I said, I have a huge dinner being thrown in my honour…”

“Come on, John, whatever you say can’t really surprise us,” Pete coaxed. “Look at our group of friends. We have the weakest morals. We’ve done drugs, destroyed hotel rooms, committed mild robbery on a few occasions, we disrespect women, one of us is a Satanist – “

Jimmy coughed. “ _Allegedly._ "

"Excuse me, _allegedly_ a Satanist…what are you doing that could be surprising to us at this point?”

John blinked. “As I was saying, I have a cult…”

Jimmy looked frustrated. “Come on, John. Be serious.”

John threw his hands up. “Fine, I’m going to an orgy.”

A pause. Pete lowered his voice. “Where?”

The cashier wandered into their aisle, looking nervous. “Are you guys going to buy anything…?”

“Right, yes, I was just going to buy some cigarettes,” John covered for them while Pete took the bag of clothes and dramatically dashed to the bathroom. It wasn’t subtle and in fact it was very sketchy and John figured the store owner thought they were planning a robbery so he made sure to tell the owner that they weren’t in fact planning a robbery and that was just how all Britons acted in corner stores in fact. 

In the gross and cramped corner store bathroom stall, Pete struggled to change into the sequined jumpsuit while smashing his long and gangly limbs on the stall wall every time he moved. He underestimated just how small it was on him, even though the salesperson said it wouldn’t be that noticeable. He couldn’t physically bend over, the trousers came up to his mid shin, and the sleeves ended right before his elbow and was so tight it threatened to cut off the circulation in his arms. He was starting to think that maybe this was a mistake and he should just tell Jimmy it wasn’t going to work. But when Pete bundled up his street clothes and stuffed them in the bag, he emerged out of the stall and stood in front of the mirror under the cheap fluorescent lights and was totally shocked. He looked gorgeous. Something aligned perfectly and Pete realized this was how he was meant to be. This was how he was meant to look. The inside finally matched up with the outside. He had never felt so secure in himself in his entire life. He had to take a minute to wipe some tears of joy away. 

Jimmy knocked twice quickly, and slipped in. There definitely wasn’t enough room for two people, but they made it work. “John just left, and I just bought some chocolates from the guy because I felt guilty. Anyways, the coast is clear. And – oh my god. You look… _beautiful_ …”

Pete blushed. “Do you really think so?”

Jimmy gave him a tender smile. “Truly. You’re radiant. You are a goddess. You are strong and smart and capable of anything.”

“Ohmygod _stop_ , I’m like totally gonna cry…”

“I just thought you should know,” Jimmy kissed his cheek and changed in front of him since Pete could guard the outside door anyways. His sequined jumpsuit fit him better because he wasn’t a million feet tall. When they stood side by side in the mirror, they looked like a glamorous crime fighting duo. They both took a shot from the crotch liquor before hiding it again, and they grabbed their things and scurried out of the store. The owner had to watch them awkwardly run from one side of the store to the other for like, forty-five seconds while they tried to be discreet but the sound of the satin and the sequins was noisy in the otherwise empty store. The nightclub was a few doors down, so they didn’t have to be seen in public dressed like that for very long. Pete hid the bag with their street clothes in the garden in front of the restaurant next door where hopefully they could retrieve it at the end of the night. They ushered in quickly, paying their cover, and headed right downstairs. 

This time, they really fit in with the crowd. People paid attention to them, but it was less judgemental and more sizing them up to see who was better, which meant they were adequate enough to be competition and sometimes that’s all you need to be successful, folks. Between the two of them, they finished the liquor and got adequately buzzed, which gave them the courage to move in to the middle of the dancefloor in the lights where everyone could see them. Pete reused some dance moves from the last time, and tactfully watched the younger crowd out the corner of his eye and studied how they were moving too. As much as it was all a performance, he was having a blast. Pete was in his _element_. 

Every once and a while, the DJ would play some slower songs to break up the constant barrage of boogie-ing, which Jimmy and Pete used to go back to the bar. They downed shot after shot with their rock star budgets, which garnered them some attention from the locals who pretended to live their lifestyles but obviously couldn’t afford it. On cue, two drunk girls shimmied down the bar to try and chat them up, and the whole time, Pete kept looking over Jimmy’s shoulder back to the dancefloor, which was calling him back like a seductive temptress. 

“Cool threads,” the least drunk one told them.

“Thank you,” Jimmy smiled, only half paying attention while he paid for their drinks.

“What’s your name?” the other girl asked, shouting over the music. 

“Not Pete Townshend,” Pete Townshend said.

“Deep,” Jimmy murmured. 

“Who’s Pete Townshend?” the first one asked. 

“He sounds like a cunt,” the second one said. 

“You’d be right,” Pete said quickly, then wrapped an arm around Jimmy’s waist and pulled him onto the dancefloor just as another one of their favourite songs started. 

“Pete! Darling!” Jimmy clutched his shoulders before they even started to dance. “How could you say that about yourself? What about self love and acceptance?”

Pete also clutched onto Jimmy’s shoulders. “Don’t you see? The old Pete is a cunt. The new Pete is less of a cunt. I’m finally growing into myself.” He looked off into the distance dramatically. “This is who I’m meant to be…”

The crowd was surrounding them and Jimmy got bumped into by a rude older man. Jimmy took the hint and lured Pete closer to the middle of the dancefloor. “I respect and support your self growth. Dance the pain away, you beautiful thing…”

And so, they did. 

Next door, John was being lead into his makeshift palace like a king. They even gave him a sash with something in Swedish painted on. He couldn’t read it but he assumed it was important. His tireless worshippers redecorated the dancefloor entirely, filling the space with long tables for everyone to sit at, and bountiful heaps of homemade Swedish delicacies. The leader of the cult tried to usher John onstage to where they set up a literal throne and his own personal table. 

John wasn’t trying to be a total ham on purpose, but sometimes it just works out that way. Everyone’s eyes were on him as he entered the room, and they all stood up respectfully. John stood at the front of the room, heralding all their attention in suspense. Then, he took an extra chair from the stack in the back corner, and made a big show of sitting at a table with his followers. They all burst into cheers and applause. People started weeping. Multiple roses were thrown at his feet. 

John pretended to be humble, clutching a hand to his heart to mimic heartfelt sincerity. He urged the noise to die down so he could make a toast, using as simple vocabulary as possible since he didn’t expect the rural townspeople to be experts in English. 

“Please, everyone. Sit and eat,” he announced with a dramatic sweep of the arm to acknowledge the crowd. He took a bottle of wine and toasted everyone, then got the idea to go to each person in the room and pour some for them, like a veiled reference to popular religious imagery or whatever. "This is my blood," he announced dramatically to the table, then laughed at his own joke. It may have been the language barrier, but the punchline flew right over their heads. Everyone's eyes widened, astounded.

In his defense, you only get a cult that obsessively worships you maybe once in your life. John did actually want to show them some gratitude, except he didn’t account on how long it would take to pour wine for every single person crammed at all five tables, plus the lingerers at the back who weren’t lucky enough to get a seat. After going through his millionth bottle of wine he was nearly finished, and he was so hungry he couldn’t focus, and everyone was waiting patiently for him to follow through with his cocky demonstration, but finally everyone had been served and they all scrambled to eat the food before it got too cold. Sitting near the stage, a small group of musicians who looked like they were still in high school played an orchestral rendition of ‘Boris the Spider’ while they ate, and John thought that life couldn’t get any better. 

Also in the entertainment district, Robert, Jonesy, and Roger with his garbage bag cast protector shuffled into the back row of a comfortingly worn down movie theatre. It was more crowded down at the front, so they figured they’d have a bit more privacy at the very back like schoolboys. As promised, Roger kept his foot elevated on the empty seat in front of him, and his short legs were barely long enough to reach. Robert was juggling two literal armfuls of candy because the teenager working at the concession stand was a big fan and Robert kept going back to buy things and talk to him. Jonesy sat cross-legged in the middle of them, stealing a sweet from Robert’s lap here and there, wondering why no one was acknowledging the intimate plastic wrap scene from earlier, and trying to convince himself that this sort of thing must happen all the time when you’re someone like Roger or Robert. 

The trailers ran before the show with the cinema lights dimmed halfway. Roger cleared his throat. “I have an announcement.”

“Go on,” Jonesy prompted. 

“I’ve decided to channel all my hate and anger towards Peter Frampton now,” Roger said. “I feel like this would be healthier for me and my loved ones.”

Jonesy furrowed his eyebrows. “How…?”

“I’m very proud of you, darling,” Robert cooed. 

“I guess maybe I should talk to Pete and see what all the disco hype is about,” Roger sighed. “It’s not worth losing him over. I still feel really bad about everything this morning.”

Robert and Jonesy racked their brains to try and remember what happened two chapters ago or whatever. “Oh, right, the KC and the Sunshine Band thing.”

“Still,” Robert continued. “I’m very excited for you.”

“Thank you everyone for your support,” Roger said diplomatically, and reached over Jonesy to get a sweet from Robert. The plastic bag crinkled and Jonesy immediately got a Plastic Wrap Flashback and shivered.

The lights dimmed fully, and the three cozied into their seats as the movie started. It turned out to be one of those super artsy European films with long takes and it was in black and white even though they were in _the future_. It took twenty minutes of brooding stares and pretty girls crying on trains before a character actually spoke. 

“I can’t actually understand Swedish,” Robert admitted in a whisper.

“I sort have thought it would have subtitles,” Jonesy whispered. 

“I think we can agree this is something Pete would jack off to,” Roger whispered back. 

Jonesy and Robert nodded. “Definitely.”

They tried to watch a bit more. They were halfway through a ten minute long scene where one of the pretty girls was smoking sensually and there wasn’t much plot and the three of them were getting bored, so Robert ran through his list of things that would entertain him instead. He quietly started to pile the bags of candy onto Jonesy’s lap, careful not to crinkle the plastic too loudly. “Jonesy, can you watch our things while I go give Roger a handjob in the bathroom?”

“Oh,” Jonesy said quietly while the candy piled up. 

“Robert,” Roger scolded in a harsh whisper. “Don’t be rude. If you’re going to give out handjobs, you have to give out enough for everybody.”

“Oh boy,” Jonesy said again.

Robert rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. As long as we can get out of this movie.”

They started moving and grabbing their things when an usher snuck up to their aisle, flashing them with her torch. “Gentlemen, I’ll have to ask you to sit down and be quiet so everyone can enjoy the movie.”

“Right, sorry miss,” Roger whispered back. He urged the others to sit down again, and they all sulked through the rest of the painfully deep and artistic film. 

Back in the gentle upscale neighbourhood, Keith and Bonzo trekked back to the retirement home with their giant winter coats stuffed with illegal contraband for their new elderly friends. They entered the building and tried to be polite to the nurses while also quickly making their way to the recreation room. Keith insisted on a few detours before they arrived which made them late. 

The usual suspects were around the table again, but instead playing an innocent game of Scrabble. The nurses were still loitering, attending to individual patients who insisted they didn’t need to be attended to and were in fact just very invested in playing this particular game of Scrabble in pure unsupervised independence. The others were bickering over their makeshift international version of the game where everyone threw down words in their native language and then accused the others of making up words. 

Again, Keith and Bonzo were questioned by the nurses, and again, Oskar said they were his grandsons. One of the nurses scavenged around the room and found little lanyards for them to wear that indicated they were volunteers, which just made them feel like they were rascal teenagers trying to do some half-assed community service. Keith started to feel very, very old. 

Keith and Bonzo stood around awkwardly, knowing that if they took off all their bulky winter outerwear, they would accidentally reveal all the goods they had smuggled in, so they insisted to the nurses that they were just cold and pretended to be busy reading the Scrabble rulebook. Margot, the French woman, was trying to usher the nurses out because their unofficial union was pre-approved for independent recreation time before bed, and the nurse was trying to lecture Oskar, the German man, and remind him that gambling was against the rules here and there was to be no drugs or alcohol allowed as per the contract of their admission, blah blah blah…

When the last nurse was ushered out, Prudence and Peggy blocked the door with a chair wedged under the doorknob. The Scrabble tiles were pushed back into the box unceremoniously and Oskar pulled half a deck of cards out of the bottom of each shoe and started shuffling. Keith and Bonzo took off their coat and hats and started generously piling all the contraband on the table for everyone to share.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Keith announced. They bought three packages of cigarettes, one box of cigars, a bit of Keith’s weed, one bottle of vodka, and one bottle of scotch. “That covers our admission for the week, yeah?”

The seniors looked delighted. Everyone sampled and shared, comparing and laughing, like a huge holiday feast. Bonzo felt his heart grow warm. Although under incredibly sketchy circumstances, he felt like he was making a difference in his community. Finally his efforts were paying off, and he was making good people happy. 

Oskar was actually smiling, which was a triumph in itself. “Come on, everyone, let’s play a few rounds. Nice and friendly.”

Now that the contraband wasn’t scarce enough to be gambled for, they could enjoy a fun, leisurely game of poker with low stakes. Everyone seemed to be in such a good mood that they preferred to talk and joke around the whole time, and Bonzo genuinely enjoyed hearing their stories and anecdotes. And just like his luck, now that money wasn’t involved, nor fame and glory, Keith was finally winning. All he got was a fatherly pat on the back from Oskar now and then. 

Bonzo was pouring vodka into Peggy’s paper cup for her. Already a few shots in, she leaned in to murmur, “You know, my second husband had a moustache like yours…”

“What the fuck did they try to serve us at lunch today?” Margot laughed while the next round was dealt. 

“I’ve eaten mud in the trenches in WWI that tasted better than that,” Oskar joked. “I didn’t get a pair of fake teeth for nothing. I don’t want mush anymore. I want nice food again, like a steak.”

“We’re not actually as old an decrepit as they think. I say we get some people together during morning arts and crafts tomorrow and organize an uprising. I can guarantee no one else here likes the slop they serve us. Unless you’re William that is,” Prudence chuckled, then sighed. “God, I miss him.”

“Yeah, where is William tonight?” Keith asked, yet again scoring the winning hand. 

Everyone fell silent. Bonzo clasped a hand to his chest, his stomach sinking. “God, no, did he…?”

Margot gave him a look which showed that they were uncomfortably silent for a more awkward reason. “No, he didn’t die. He’s in his room right now trying to fuck this girl Mary from the second floor. Her doctor just gave her five months to live so he’s making a move now while he still can.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bonzo poured himself another drink. Life was strange.

“Wait, can you still get it up when you’re that old?” Keith asked. 

“It doesn’t fall off when you get start getting your pension,” Oskar said. “Anyways, he’s been after her for ages. It’s about time he finally grew a pair and talked to her.”

Prudence sighed again. “I think it’s romantic. You’re never too old for love.” 

Beside him, Peggy patted Bonzo’s hand, and winked. 

“That’s the one piece of advice I would pass along to you kids,” Margot said to Keith and Bonzo, the kids in question. “If you love someone, go after them. You never know when it’s too late.”

Bonzo frowned. “I’m so sorry. Did that happen to you?”

Another hand of cards was dealt. Margot lit a cigarette and stared off dreamily into space. She launched right in to a story. “I was just a girl of 19, giddily in love for the first time with the boy next door. He was my oldest friend and one true love. We shared our first kiss on the eve of the day war was declared. Before he left to be deployed, he asked me to be his wife. I chickened out, because if anything happened to him while he was away, I knew I wouldn’t be able to go on. So I refused, and I never read a single one of the letters he sent me while we were apart. I pretended that I didn’t need him so I could survive without him. It was something I regret every single day.”

Bonzo’s eyes were welling with tears. Everyone else was bored because they had heard this story a dozen times already.

“What happened after that?” Keith asked, pretending he wasn’t invested in the story when he knew very well how real it was and it frightened him.

Margot flicked her cigarette ashes into the Scrabble box. “Well, I joined the resistance, and lived in a commune with other radical artists. By night, we smuggled prisoners of war out of their camps to safety, and helped orphan children find foster homes in neighbouring countries. By day, we were all in a relationship with each other and had passionate group love making to pass the time.”

“Oh,” Bonzo said.

“Can you do that?” Keith asked. “Like, date a whole bunch of people at once in a group? Does that count?”

“You can do whatever the fuck you want,” Margot told him kindly. “There are literally no rules.”

“But what about the boy next door?” Bonzo asked. 

“I ran into his sister at the end of the war,” Margot continued. “I didn’t know it was his sister though, and we fell in love and dated for a few years. Finally we got word that her brother was stranded in England because he needed both legs amputated. But we French hate the English so we weren’t sure if it was worth rescuing him or not. No offense.”

“None taken,” Keith said. 

“We eventually decided it was time, though. I finally built up the courage to read the letters he sent me faithfully every Sunday during the war, and I was reminded of why I fell in love with him in the first place. All the memories came flooding back, and I had to acknowledge within myself that I couldn’t spend another day without him in my life,” Margot looked forlorn. “When I first laid eyes on him in that hospital bed in London, he was physically and emotionally a broken man. He nearly succumbed to the horrors of the war, but he told me the only thing that kept him hanging on was the hope of seeing me again and marrying me. I had never cried so many tears in my life than I did that afternoon. As soon as he was discharged, I wheeled him to city hall myself and we signed the marriage certificate. We lived forty beautiful years together as husband and wife, and raised the three loveliest children together.”

Peggy handed Bonzo a tissue to wipe his eyes. Keith cleared his throat. “Wait, so – “

“Yes, his penis still worked after the double amputation.”

“Okay, cool. Sorry to interrupt.”

“What about his sister?” Bonzo asked.

“She surprisingly wasn’t as mad as you might think,” Margot told him.

“Oh, well that’s convenient.”

“Quite so,” Margot sighed, but happily. “Anyways, the moral of the story is, it’s never too late to be with your soul mate. If you’re meant to be together, you’ll be together.”

Everyone broke off into a happy chatter, generally agreeing with her, commenting on the story and whatnot, but something about the story rattled Keith deep down. He didn’t like the things he was realizing, so he reached for the bottle of scotch to distract himself instead. Oskar was the only one who noticed he had fallen quiet after that. 

Prudence was the one who gave everyone the warning that the nurses would be coming back in five minutes, so everyone scrambled to clean up, air out the room and spray perfumes to cover up the smells, and divide the remaining contraband. Bonzo insisted the elderly keep it all – who knows how much longer they had left, they may as well have fun with their remaining time. They hid the bottles in Oskar’s wheelchair pouch, the cigarettes went into Margot’s bra, the weed into the toe of Peggy’s shoe, and box of cigars into Prudence’s skirt waistband.

The nurse came in to start clearing everyone out and herding them to bed. Keith started wheeling Oskar out and towards his room. “Hey, Oskar? Could I ask you a favour?”

“Yes, of course, son,” Oskar said. Keith wheeled him down the hall and into his room and closed the door behind them. Oskar wheeled himself around the small confines of his room. 

“Could I see your book collection?” Keith asked casually. 

Oskar pointed to the stacks of books on his desk. “Go right ahead, Kenneth. There’s more in the bottom two drawers, and another box under the bed.”

“Big reader, huh?” Keith smiled, gradually feeling a little less weary. He quickly searched through all the titles for what he was looking for. Most were in German or in English and they were worn, wrinkled, and water stained, but well loved. A few of the newer ones were in Swedish, and he even had two novels in Spanish. 

“Reading has been the one constant in my life,” Oskar admitted. “No matter where you are, rich or poor, young or old, happy or sad, it’s a surefire comfort for anyone.”

That in itself was oddly comforting to Keith, even though he never read much except for magazines these days. He searched through the second drawer to no avail, but in the third desk drawer crushed under a stack of dusty novels Keith found a copy of ‘die Rückkehr des Königs’ by J.R.R Tolkien. 

“Ah, The Return of the King,” Oskar said fondly. “I bought that book in Berlin after my cousin’s wedding. One of the happiest summers of my life.”

Keith flipped through the worn pages. The print date on the first page proved it was one of the first editions. It would work perfectly for his cover story. “Oskar, I feel like a real jerk, but I need this exact book. Can I buy it off you?”

Oskar fell quiet. He scratched his chin. “What do you need it for?”

Keith heard the nurses coming to the room across the hall from his. “It’s a really long story. But this guy was going to fuck me if I got him a signed copy of this book.”

Oskar turned from disappointed to downright disgusted. “Are you a goddamn homosexual?”

“Well, that’s why I need the book so I can get fucked and find out.”

Oskar wheeled towards him and snatched the treasured book from Keith’s hands. He expected a lecture and some sermon about the sin of homosexuality, but instead Oskar just stared him down. Finally, Oskar softened. “This guy…is that the one you were thinking of when Margot was telling her story?”

Keith turned sheepish. “Er…I was actually thinking of _another_ guy during that story…”

Oskar wheeled towards him again, and hit Keith upside the head with the paperback book. “You idiot! Why are you having sex with other people and ignoring the person you _do_ love?”

“Ow!” Keith shielded himself. “I said it’s a long story!”

Oskar hit him again. “Did you learn nothing from Margot’s long fucking story? I sat through that whole monologue again so you could hear it!”

Keith yanked the book back again to avoid getting hit a third time. “I just want to be wanted, okay? Anyways, I’m working on getting my one true love because Margot put everything into perspective. But there’s a lot at stake so I have to be careful.”

Oskar just gave a fatherly ‘I’m not mad I’m just disappointed’ sigh. “And if I give you this book…?”

Keith started pitching like a businessman. “If you give me this book, I can have wild sex with this gorgeous guy and have a full homosexual awakening and I’ll be ready and experienced for my one true love. If everything works, we fall in love and live happily ever after. If he doesn’t love me back after all this, I’ll drown myself.”

Oskar looked down at the book cover, thinking it over. After what felt like centuries, he handed the book over. “Alright. You can have it. Just sort out your fucking life.”

Keith grinned. “Thank you, I really appreciate it, I just…” Oskar was already rolling his eyes. “I just need one last thing to seal the deal. Can you sign it for me? I have a very specific message I need in there.”

“Why can’t you sign it yourself?”

“I need it to look like a weak old man signed it at the end of his life.”

“Hey!”

“What? Am I supposed to pretend you’re not old as balls? You’re literally in a retirement home.”

Oskar snatched the book back, grumbling, and wheeled over to place the book on his desk and fetch for a pen. “Alright, what’s the message?”

“Okay, exactly like this,” Keith stood over his shoulder and cleared his throat. “’Dear Oskar, thank you for all the years of friendship and support while I wrote this book. Please accept this signed book as a symbol of my love and loyalty to you’.”

“That sounds incredibly homosexual.”

“Everything you love is gay, get over it,” Keith nudged him again. “Now forge Tolkien’s signature on the end. Make it all wobbly and old. But tender and heartfelt.”

“Oh my god.”

“C’mon.”

Oskar finished writing in his pristine, neat handwriting, with purposeful tremors in his hand to wobble the letters. He closed the cover and handed the book back to Keith. “There you go. Now get out of my room.”

“Yes sir, of course sir, thank you sir,” Keith took the book and bowed graciously. “I really appreciate it, deeply and truly.”

“Alright, alright,” Oskar started shooing him away. “Go home. Don’t forget what you learned tonight.”

“I won’t forget, I promise,” Keith gave him one last smile and slipped out the door again. He dashed down the hallway to find Bonzo, who was roped back into walking Peggy back to her room. He was desperately trying to scrub two red lipstick kisses off his cheek. “Come on Bonzo, let’s go. I have a lot of feelings and I don’t know how to process them so I need to be distracted.”

“Gotcha,” Bonzo linked an arm through Keith’s and they slipped out the retirement home, already going dark for the night. They walked quietly through the residential neighbourhood, lost in thought. Keith tucked the book in the inside pocket of his coat to protect against the snow, and pulled a flask out of his waistband. He took a swig and handed it to Bonzo. 

“Margot was right and I don’t like it,” Keith said. “I really have no excuse.”

“Are you going to after John?” Bonzo asked gently. He had mixed feelings on the whole situation. 

“I have to,” Keith took another drink. “But I’m nervous. He’s my best friend, you know? I want it to actually mean something in the end. But if I ruin that it’s all my fault, and there’s a lifelong friendship down the drain…”

“If you were really friends, John wouldn’t kick you to the curb like that after an awkward fumble,” Bonzo said absentmindedly. The story was all starting to sound familiar. 

“Have you ever been in my position, Bonzo?”

Bonzo bit his lip. Oh god. He was starting to realize things too. “Yeah, maybe I have…”

“What do I do?” Keith wailed. He took another drink from the flask, then stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. Bonzo stopped too, and for a moment they just let the world spin around them in a steadily slow silence. Keith tilted his head back and shouted at the sky. “God? If John Entwistle is my soul mate and I should be with him, send me a sign.”

Bonzo and Keith stood absolutely still, waiting for a bolt of lightning, or a heart murmur, or an explosion, or deluge, or anything. But there was none of that. Keith bit his bottom lip, and went to unscrew the flask for another drink. They were startled by a sudden rustling coming from the garage of the house they were standing in front of. 

Keith hid behind Bonzo, and they both struggled to see in the dark, until like all things in life, the truth reveals itself at the right time. An animal was digging through the rubbish bins outside that person’s house. It found whatever it was looking for, and scurried under the car and back out onto the sidewalk. In the streetlight, they discovered it was a fat raccoon with a slice of pizza in its mouth. Keith’s jaw dropped.

“Hey, Keith, look,” Bonzo started giggling. “It’s your son.”

The raccoon stopped to look at them, then kept walking past them, across the street, and into someone else’s backyard.

“Bonzo, he's the goddamn messiah," Keith whispered.


	9. masturbating in the shower

Everyone came home at a reasonable hour – or, as reasonable as you could considering the lifestyle that came along with a career such as theirs. 

Jimmy practically had to pry Pete away from the dance floor. They left early before the club closed and everyone flooded out all at once. Thankfully, their bag of street clothes were still there where they had hid them. They snuck into a bar washroom and changed again, breathlessly thrilled with everything, and hurried home. Robert, Roger, and Jonesy were already home and in their respective beds. Jimmy hid the bag of disco clothes under the sink with the cleaning supplies where no one would think to look, and then the two slunk into the first bedroom as though nothing had happened. 

Pete had just shut the bedroom door behind them when he looked over at Roger in bed, tucked in all warm and safe in his pyjamas, and he instantly felt guilty for going out behind Roger’s back to participate in the corrupt institution of disco he knew Roger hated – although it is important to note that Pete was still unaware that Roger had had a change of heart about the whole thing. Roger lit up when Pete entered the room, all set to make peace, but he thought Pete was still wounded after their mid-fuck fight that morning and shrunk back in on himself. The two guilty men avoided each other; Pete keeping his head low as he rifled through the dresser for pyjamas. He worried that he smelled too much like sweat and Roger would suspect him even further, so he ducked into the bathroom to change and wash up. 

Robert picked up on the uncomfortable dynamic right away. He had been in bed with Roger having a cuddle when he noticed him tense up immediately. While Pete was next door in the bathroom, Robert stared Jimmy down and they began to communicate telepathically, a skill they could only pull off because they were soul mates, and also because Jimmy sold his grandmother’s soul to the devil for some neat voodoo tricks like that. 

_What’s going on?_ Robert asked. 

_I’m not sure, I’m sensing Pete still feels guilty about the disco thing?_ Jimmy replied. 

_Roger’s aura is definitely off. I think he’s mad at him or something._

_This totally ruins **the plan** ,_ Jimmy groaned.

_What does this have to do with the Keith thing?_

_No, not your plan, **my** plan._

_The…?_

_The January 9th thing?_

_Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Jimmy, we have to do something about this!_

_Don’t shout so much, you’ll give me a migraine. Anyways, give me Roger tomorrow. I think I have a plan._

_We should really start naming our plans so we can distinguish them._

_Yeah, good point._

“Um, what are you guys doing?” Roger whispered. 

Robert sighed. _God, he’s so hot. Don’t you dare make a move on him tomorrow. I want him once the house is empty._

Jimmy crossed his arms. _What about me? I haven’t had any time with you this trip._

Pete came back in the room, and winced instantly. “Whoa, I just got a massive headache.”

Jimmy spun around, horrified. “Could you hear any of that?”

Pete blinked. “What?”

Robert waved it off. “Never mind that. Everyone come to bed, I’m tired.”

Jimmy ended the telepathic connection, and Pete’s headache suddenly ceased. Jimmy changed into pyjamas as well and slid into bed next to Robert, and Pete took the other end, figuring Roger didn’t want him nearby. Still, it felt weird not to sleep next to him. 

Everyone stared at the ceiling.

“So, here we are,” Robert said. “The four of us, in a bed…kinda reminds me of…oh, wait, Roger’s already asleep. Damnit.”

The brunettes peered over to where Roger was already snoring softly. Pete felt a pang in his heart. 

Bonzo and Keith came home next, the long walk in the brisk night air cutting off the edge of their tipsiness. 

“You coming to bed?” Bonzo asked as he hung up his coat. 

“Yeah, I’m just gonna…” Keith’s voice trailed off. “Yeah, in a bit. Go ahead.”

Bonzo was tired, and didn’t feel like it was worth a debate. He was still put off by Margot’s story about soul mates and lost opportunities and all that. He left Keith behind to putter around in the kitchen, and went into the second bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. Jonesy was already in bed reading a book, his features softened by the warm lamplight. He looked up and gave Bonzo a smile. 

“Hey,” Jonesy put his bookmark in. “How was your night?”

“Not too bad,” Bonzo instantly felt more at ease. He went to get his night clothes, unsure of weather or not to particularly turn away and hide everything from Jonesy. It wasn’t a big deal, they were both adults, and close friends as it was. He didn’t make a big performance out of it or anything, he just changed and threw his dirty clothes back in his suitcase. “I have way too much existential shit on my mind.”

“Like what?” Jonesy asked kindly. Bonzo could sigh in relief because it was like they were back to normal – Jonesy was the only one patient enough to let him talk out his feelings. He was also the only one who really got it on an intellectual level. 

“We met someone tonight who was convinced that if you were meant to be with someone, you would end up with them no matter what,” Bonzo pulled off his socks. 

“The whole idea that it’s never too late to be with your soul mate, you know?”

“Yeah, I can see where that comes from,” Jonesy put his book aside and watched Bonzo pull back the blanket and sit next to him in bed. “But you never really believed in any of that stuff, did you?”

Bonzo shrugged. “It seems to be something universally agreed on. I just thought that only happened to poets and stuff.”

A gooey, romantic smile spread on Jonesy’s face and Bonzo’s stomach started to feel _something_ , but he blamed it on the alcohol. “To be honest, I always thought it was unrealistic. But then it happens and then you understand what all the fuss is about.”

Bonzo looked away to hide his frown. “So John’s the stuff of poetry and love ballads?”

Now Jonesy looked away to hide his goofy smile. “I think so. It just makes sense when we’re together. He’s everything I need.”

“Hey, that’s really great,” Bonzo suddenly felt very, very tired. He lay down and rolled onto his side, facing away from Jonesy, defending himself with a forced yawn. “I wish you guys simply the best.”

Jonesy sighed happily, and turned off the lamp. He lay down too. “Thanks, Bonzo. You’re always so supportive.”

“Mm,” Bonzo murmured in response, willing himself to sleep but barely succeeding. 

Jonesy let the room fall quiet. He wanted to tell him about the bizarre scene with Robert and Roger, but felt that Bonzo wasn’t in the mood to find it as funny as he did. “Are you okay? Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“Okay, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

They both lay there for a while, pretending to sleep. The room was too cold, and they both felt just a bit too lonely. 

Keith loitered in the kitchen, but really he was staking out for John to come home. He made a nightcap to pass the time, then another, then a snack, then he started preparing the bedding on the couch when he finally heard the car pull up outside, and John came creeping in moments later. 

“Oh, you’re back,” Keith said casually, fluffing a pillow. 

“You fucking bet I’m back,” John announced, and Keith could tell just by his voice and demeanour that he was happily wine drunk. Keith wondered if it was white or red wine. John only drank white with a good meal, and he always bought a bottle of red when he wanted an evening to go in a particularly intimate direction. “Keith, they think I’m Jesus. I probably am. Who says I’m not?”

“Did Jesus even know he was Jesus?” Keith humoured him, finding reasons to creep closer. 

“Probably not ‘till they crucified him for being Jesus,” John laughed. His eyes were dim, and he was looking down at Keith with a _look_ and Keith felt like he was going to be devoured by him any minute. Keith felt weak with want, and it felt so damn good to want again. 

“Let’s see your tongue,” Keith teased. 

John stuck out his tongue, then pulled it back in. It was stained a deep red. “Wait, why?”

“I made a bet with myself that you were drunk on red wine,” Keith murmured. “Glad to know I’m still undefeated.”

“You’ve resorted to gambling with yourself now?” John leaned against the table. “Sweden must not be the place for this.”

“You can say that again,” Keith chuckled. They were keeping their voices down, careful not to wake the others. “So the cult dinner went well today, I see?”

John broke away only to start taking off his jumper and his boots. “Really, really fucking well. I don’t think they understand what I’m saying though. I might need to get a phrasebook or something.”

“I think Bonzo has one,” Keith wandered back over to the couch, idly fixing the blanket. 

“Oh, good,” John hummed. He floated over to the couch as well. He seemed to really be enjoying himself. “Is it cool if I take the couch?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” 

John smiled, and it was mischievous. “Want to join me?”

“Always,” Keith’s voice was barely above a whisper. He climbed onto the couch first, settling under the covers, practically shaking with nervousness. John was drunk and agreeable, and Keith knew he would do anything John asked. 

John lay down next to him, not bothering to change out of his clothes, and they struggled to fit side by side on the small couch and under the small blanket. Finally, John rolled onto his side and gazed down at Keith, who suddenly felt very small, and oddly enough, very safe. But John had a different idea. He shifted his leg between Keith’s thighs. Keith inched in closer, his hand shyly sliding over John’s hip. He hoped John wouldn’t noticed his hands were shaking. Keith tilted his face up, lining himself up perfectly for John’s mouth, playing coy and flirty for him. 

Instead, John took his chin and turned Keith’s face away. John slowly pressed hot kisses against Keith’s cheek, his jaw, down his neck, and to his collarbone. Keith’s heart was threatening to thud right out of his chest. 

“John…” he sighed softly. John didn’t respond, he just let a hand trail heavily down Keith’s chest and pulled Keith’s hips closer. Keith was hard already, and he made sure to grind his hips against John’s so he knew how he made Keith feel. Keith swallowed quickly and tried again. “John, go ahead.”

“Mm?” John murmured. He ducked his head down and mercilessly bit a spot on Keith’s neck, dragging his teeth hard to make sure he left a mark. Keith arched, barely supressing a groan. Keith clutched him tighter. John spoke low in Keith’s ear, teasingly. “What did you say?”

“Use me however you want,” Keith shuddered. He was truly aching with want. He reached down to unbutton John’s trousers, but John kindly took his hands and stopped him. When he looked back up again, something in John’s eyes had changed from smoldering and consuming to thoughtful and guilty. Keith understood right away, or at least he thought he did. He couldn’t escape the humiliation tightening in his chest so he rolled to the other side to hide his face from John. But John wrapped around Keith, to apologize, to reassure him it, to buy himself more time. He snuck a hand around Keith’s waist and under his shirt to feel his warm skin, and Keith relaxed. Soon, he was promised. And sometimes that’s enough.

They slept like that until everyone else woke up and started going about their days. Bonzo was the first one up, and he had definitely woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Literally, if you chose to look at it that way – Jonesy was curled up on the edge of the mattress, looking angelic and peaceful with his hair falling softly down his back, and Bonzo was on the other side of the mattress and feeling a million miles away. It was too early to start drinking so he figured food might help his sour mood. Bonzo eased out of bed quietly, feeling sore on the inside and out, and got dressed before he left the room. When he walked into the main area he saw the feet of two people entwined on the couch, and only then did Bonzo clue in that Keith and John hadn’t come to bed that night. He walked around the couch to verify that the two shaggy dark haired heads were who he thought they were, and then something in the pit of his stomach sparked like a match in a pool of gasoline. He couldn’t fucking believe the nerve of the two, just laying there happily like they weren’t doing anything wrong. 

Bonzo turned on all the lights, and crashed around the kitchen making the noisiest breakfast he could. He thought of how much Jonesy loved John, and how rotten he would feel if he walked in and saw this. He thought of how differently John treated Jonesy when he was bored, or how he refused to see any fault. He thought of how naïve and foolish Jonesy was because he couldn’t realize how much better he deserved. Bonzo then decided to go into the cupboard by the stove and pull out the blender, throwing in a bunch of fruit and setting it to the highest, most obnoxious setting. 

“What the fuck?” John’s voice was hoarse, and he realized he had been woken up abruptly probably every morning since they were here. “Dude, stop.”

Bonzo turned around, and he realized he really underestimated how angry he was. “Sorry, was I interrupting something?”

Keith sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Could you quiet down please?”

Bonzo curled and uncurled his fist. “John, I’d just like to remind you that there’s a man in the other room who loves you too much and would be devastated if he saw you and Keith like this.”

John didn’t even flinch; instead, he pulled the blanket higher up under his chin. “Nothing’s going on.”

Keith looked incredibly uncomfortable, and purposely avoided Bonzo’s eye. Bonzo struggled to remain composed. “Jonesy’s my best friend and I won’t stand to see him being treated like this just because you have some weird complex where you have to own everyone you’re attracted to.”

That got John’s attention. He sat up slowly. “How about you mind your fucking business?”

Keith looked nervous. Bonzo felt the early onset anger start to creep in and he really didn’t fucking feel like practicing his anger management techniques. “Actually, no, I won’t. It’s starting to affect the people I love and care about. Get over your unfulfilled childhood crush on Pete, and let Jonesy go so you don’t have to keep stringing along innocent people just to flatter your ego, because I’m the one who has to pick up all the fucking pieces when you’re done.”

John raised an eyebrow, and the bastard fucking smirked at him. “Calm down there, mate. We’re all grown men. We can take care of ourselves. You don’t have to keep pretending to be the hero to get everyone to swoon and sigh and fall in love with you.” 

Bonzo didn’t remember getting across the room, or yanking John by the collar of his shirt, or drawing his fist back and preparing to punch the smug look off the bastard’s face, but in a flash the loyal Keith was in between them and pushing Bonzo away enough so John could escape his grip. Bonzo was seething. “Get over yourself.”

John leapt off the couch, going as far back against the wall as possible with only the couch separating them. “I will when you will. Now stay the fuck away from me.” John still tried to play it cool, reaching for his jacket he left by the couch and pulling out a cigarette to stick between his teeth, but they all knew John was a little shaken up. They watched him cross the room and stuff his feet into his boots, slip his coat on, and head for the door. 

“Where are you going?” Keith asked.

“You know where,” John muttered. “I don’t fucking need any of this. I’m better than all of you.” And with that, John stormed out and went for the car. 

“John!” Keith called, but to no avail. He turned to Bonzo. “Jesus. This is a mess.”

“You’re not innocent either,” Bonzo was still boiling with anger, but he could never be violent towards Keith. “You really couldn’t fucking wait?”

“Nothing happened,” Keith muttered. “We just shared a damn couch. You didn’t have to freak out like that.”

“Have some respect for yourself!” Bonzo was exasperated. “If John wants you, he’d stop seeing a hundred other people and he’d definitely stop using you every time he’s drunk and horny.”

“Bonzo, stop it,” Keith looked hurt. 

“You know I’m not wrong,” Bonzo pleaded with him. “Come on, Keith.”

Keith crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe I want it that way.” 

“Keith, no you don’t,” Bonzo rolled his eyes. “You deserve to be treated better than that.”

“By who? I’m running out of people who’re gonna love me,” Keith’s mood started to shift, and Bonzo’s blood was beginning to run cold. “You know, John’s right. All you do is control people and act like you can save everyone so you feel like you have some purpose in your life. Maybe control your fucking drinking problem first before you start getting your fingers into other people’s lives.”

Bonzo’s heart sank, but he didn’t show it. “Coming from a fucking drug addict? That’s rich. That’s real rich, Keith.” He hated that he only had one other person to turn to, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Bonzo felt like an idiot so it was his turn to storm off with purpose. He stalked angrily back to the second bedroom and slipped inside. They had woken Jonesy up, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking worried. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” Jonesy asked with that usual tenderness in his eyes that fucking John probably never appreciated or felt weak over like Bonzo did, and maybe once and for fucking all, Bonzo should stop waiting around and being too nice and actually ask for what he wants in life.

“You deserve a lot better than him,” Bonzo told him first as a friend, then as an admirer. “I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I let it slide when you first started seeing him, but now it’s gone too far and I will firmly stand up and say that he’s no good for you and it’s time to move on to someone who’ll love you with all the devotion and loyalty and faithfulness you want and deserve.” His heart was beating out of his fucking chest because he knew he was being an ass but someone had to say it, and before he knew it he was marching across the room to the bed and he grabbed Jonesy by the shoulders and leaned down to kiss him to put the cherry on top of all his messy passion, and he regret it right away, except not really, and he let himself enjoy it because this moment was years in the making, and as fast as it started he pulled his mouth and hands off Jonesy and took a step back.

Jonesy covered his mouth with a delicate hand. “Bonzo, I’m flattered, but...”

“I know,” Bonzo cut him off and started for the door. “I know, I’m sorry, I just...sorry.” He slipped out the bedroom again and didn’t look back, and Keith was sitting on the couch with the blanket around his shoulders looking extremely upset, and Bonzo cursed the fact that they were stranded on the fucking tiniest chalet on the fucking hill in the fucking middle of nowhere and he had very little places to escape to. He followed suite and also jammed his feet in his boots and tried to lace them up with his shaking hands, and he slipped his coat on and left out the front door to wander in the outdoors until their driver came back. 

In the first bedroom, the four had their ears pressed up against the door to listen to the whole thing. When they heard Bonzo slam the front door, they all recoiled sadly. 

“Oh dear,” Jimmy frowned. 

“I feel awful,” Pete murmured.

“My poor Bonzo,” Robert chewed sadly on his finger, mournful and seductive all the same. “My poor sweet angel. I’ve got to go catch up with him and see if he’s okay.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate that,” Roger said quietly as Robert left their post to go get dressed. 

“Alright lads,” Robert started scheming as he pulled on trousers and a jumper. “Pete, go round up the ski equipment. We’ll take Bonzo out to blow off some steam. Roger, you go console Keith, and Jimmy, you talk to Jonesy and make sure he doesn’t get freaked out about the whole thing for the sake of the band.”

The three nodded, all getting dressed quickly as well. Pete asked, “Does anyone know where John went?”

“I don’t know where he’s been going this whole time,” Roger said, and he felt guilty for not being a better friend and knowing. 

Everyone left the room and went to take care of their friends, and Robert’s plan backfired immediately. Pete couldn’t find the ski stuff so Jimmy had to help him, and Jonesy would only talk to Roger, and Keith was at Robert’s side in an instant. 

“Robert, you’re just who I wanted to see!” Keith was already back to playing his usual chipper and goofy character, which meant he was hurt deeply and went further to overcompensate, but Robert couldn’t bear to bring him back down again.

“What is it, love?” Robert checked anxiously over his shoulder to the window. Bonzo was out there all alone, stewing in anger and probably ripping trees in half with his bare hands or something. He looked back at Keith, who had left to dig through his jacket and pull out a book from the inside pocket. His jaw fell to the floor. “Is that…?”

“It’s an authentic first printing,” Keith was acting like a used car salesman, displaying the book and advertising it so eagerly Robert thought he was being genuine. “My great uncle signed this copy and gave it to a friend of his, a German fellow named Oskar. It counts because Tolkien used the book, right? Our deal worked out?”

Robert took the book from Keith and cradled it like it were the infant baby Jesus so tender and mild. He lovingly opened the cover and read the handwritten message on the inside, and he felt his blood rush lower. The delicate, playful cursive was weakened by age but showed he was someone determined to pledge his love to a friend. Robert imagined John Ronald Reuel hunched over his desk, lit only by a dim lamp, in the middle of a dark stormy night…the fire place roaring as his nimble fingers worked that long, thick ballpoint pen, the other hand absentmindedly scratching his coarse, sexy moustache…his breath hitching with excitement, his giant cock was probably – 

“Robert?” Keith asked gently. “Is it okay?”

Robert swallowed quickly. “Oh, Keith. It’s exactly what I needed.” He clutched the book to his chest, and went to fetch Jimmy who was digging through the storage closet with Pete. Robert pulled Jimmy into the first bedroom and shut the door, promising Keith he’d be back out in a moment. In their solitude, Robert revealed the book to Jimmy, who gasped. “It’s legit. We can do the summoning now.”

Jimmy looked up at him. “Today? Right now? What about Bonzo?”

Robert chewed on a finger nervously. “Maybe Pete can take care of him? They’re due for some one on one bonding time.”

Jimmy lowered his voice. “Wouldn’t that potentially be awkward, because John and Pete…?”

“I feel as though Pete’s just involved as a pawn by association but isn’t as guilty as the others,” Robert speculated. He handed the book to Jimmy. “Come on, babe. We can clear out the house and do it right away. We’ve wanted this for so long…”

“Shouldn’t we wait to be back home in the lair before we summon any spirits?” Jimmy looked uneasy. “So many things could go wrong, especially with six other people coming and going and fucking every moment of the day.”

“Jimmy, please,” Robert begged, and he rarely begged, even to Jimmy. “Let’s at least see if the ritual will go through. We’ll make sure everything works before we get all the way back home.”

Jimmy sighed, because it physically pained him to refuse Robert any source of joy. “Alright. You clear the house and I’ll get my things.”

“Yay!” Robert giggled delightedly. He gave Jimmy a kiss, and then two more because he loved him so dearly, and then slipped out of the room again. He spotted poor Pete trying and failing to juggle all the skis and poles and helmets. “Pete? Darling? Something’s come up and I need you to go take care of Bonzo. Go do some sports and then relax with some hot chocolate and talk about your feelings. Share some tender boyhood anecdotes or whatever. Remind him that everything will be okay and we love him very much.”

Pete almost dropped another ski. “Are you kidding me? Don’t tell me you’re staying behind to fuck someone.”

“I promise you that’s not my _intention_ ,” Robert reassured him. 

“Bonzo needs you!” Pete protested. 

“I know, I know, but…” Robert sighed. “I can explain later. I’ll take the night shift, I promise. I just need to take care of some personal affairs.”

Pete sighed, too. “Fine, fine.”

“Thank you darling,” Robert went over and gave him a big smooch on the cheek, and Pete almost dropped everything again, and Robert helped him collect the things and ushered him out the front door. Keith cleared his throat because he was still there because he couldn’t face Jonesy in the second bedroom. Now Robert rushed over to Keith, and pulled him into the first bedroom.

Keith lingered awkwardly by the door while he watched Robert and Jimmy launch into a routine with so much ease it fucking startled him. First, the two moved the bedside tables and pushed the bed further back. Robert rolled up the rugs and put them aside. Jimmy swept the newly cleared floor with an old broom made of straw that Keith didn’t know they even had which was puzzling. Robert pulled out a box from the bottom of the closet which was wrapped shut with layers of black velvet. Jimmy and Robert sat on the floor cross legged and started opening the box. It was then that Robert insisted Keith sit with them, and he had never been so hesitant in his life. Robert motioned to him to back up. Jimmy fished out a glass bottle full of black sand, but Robert stuck up his nose immediately. “Darling, don’t be silly. Use the green for vegetation. It’ll signify that manifestation is the place of the completion or growth of the spirit.”

Jimmy frowned. “But black is my favourite colour.”

“I know, baby. But we must appease **Him**.”

Jimmy sighed, and swapped the bottle for a green one. Robert pulled out a tape measure and they plotted out a nine-foot diameter for a circle that Jimmy outlined with sand. Then, to Keith’s sheer horror, Jimmy poured the sand in the shape of a pentagram in the middle of the circle. 

“I, uh, didn’t think you guys were being serious when you said you were going to ‘summon’ him,” Keith said nervously, slowly inching back towards the door. 

“Why wouldn’t we be serious?” Robert asked innocently while Jimmy set up candles at every point on the star. Robert giggled. “I know it’s dorky, but we’re _such_ big fans.”

Keith watched Jimmy light each of the candles, saying weird shit in Latin and waving his hands around like a fool. Then, Jimmy pulled his hair back and tied it which actually looked pretty cute, and he got Robert’s attention. “Alright, love. You can go ahead.”

Robert eagerly dug through the box. He placed a fountain pen and a handful of dirt and leaves in the pentagram. Jimmy cut a lock of one of Robert’s curls and placed it in the circle. Finally, they both held the Return of the King up and said more gobbledegook in Latin. The light overhead flickered, and Keith screamed. 

“Keith, shh,” Robert hissed under his breath. “We need to focus to get this right.”

Keith felt a chill run through him, and he kept inching backwards from the door. “Roger? Roger!”

“I said _shh!_ ” Robert threw the cork to the bottle of sand at Keith’s head to get him to shut up. Jimmy had his eyes closed and was murmuring some freaky shit while he placed the book in the middle of the pentagram with a theatrical slowness, and the lights in the room went out completely. Keith froze in place. 

“This is how I die,” Keith tucked his knees up to his chest. “Cool. Alright. I’ve had a good life. I hope I’m remembered.”

Jimmy and Robert ignored him this time. They held hands over the pentagram and chanted what sounded like their favourite Gregorian chants they were known for liking. The candles flickered at the same time, pointing north. They hummed in a rising crescendo, and Keith closed his eyes while his whole life flashed in front of him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when they stopped the noise abruptly. Keith popped open one eye and saw Jimmy and Robert staring at each other, perplexed. 

“Why didn’t it work?” Robert asked. 

Jimmy examined their pentagram and straightened the book to point north. “I have no idea. We did everything right.” He reached for a tiny leatherbound notebook in the box and skimmed through it. The pages were brittle and looked to be a thousand years old. “I’m positive we did everything right…”

Robert’s eye twitched. “Let’s try it again.” Keith started to stand up, and Robert shot him a lethal glare. “No, you stay here.”

Keith sat down again quickly. He was starting to piece it together. He watched Jimmy and Robert recreate the ritual, even going as far as relighting the candles. Keith became very, very nervous. They chanted again, Robert insisting with more passion than before, and still it didn’t work. Keith cleared his throat loudly.

“Man, this sucks. Maybe Tolkien’s ghost is sleeping right now or whatever,” Keith said. “Hey, what do you say we pack it in for the day and then we can discuss my repayment? I had a few things in mind.”

Jimmy looked distraught because he was doubting his own skills, and Robert was giving Keith an odd look. “Your repayment…?”

“Y’know, you said you’d, uh…” Keith made an obscene gesture with his hands. “…to me if I got you that.”

Robert chewed nervously but seductively on a finger. “I did promise, didn’t I?”

Jimmy eyed them both. “The summoning didn’t even work, so you don’t owe him anything.”

“Come on, Jimmy, not now,” Robert sighed. “A promise is a promise.”

Jimmy snatched the book from the pentagram. “I bet it’s this. Keith, are you sure this is legitimate? Or did you get ripped off by someone?”

Keith shifted nervously on his feet, an anxious sweat forming on his brow. “Um, yeah, it’s totally real…”

Robert stared him down. 

Keith hopped from one foot to another. “Yeah, it is, it is…”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s definitely legit…” Keith’s voice cracked. He was so bad at lying to his friends. 

“Keith,” Robert warned scarily, taking the book from Jimmy. He traced his finger over the handwritten message. “Did you lie about where you got this?”

Keith swallowed quickly and nodded. 

“Understood,” Robert Plant, prince of peace, sighed. He looked at the book, and back at the pentagram, realizing how all his dreams were shattered. He took a step closer to Keith and then hit him upside the head with the book.

Keith flinched, ducking his head. “Ow! Everyone needs to stop fucking hitting me with that book!”

“Stop making bad decisions with your life!” Robert cried, burying his face in his hands. “Was…was the signature real at least?”

Keith slowly shook his head. In a split second, the book was thrown at his head again. “Okay! Okay. Fuck. I’ll make it up to you. I just really need you to fuck me so I can learn what to do with John.”

“Get out!” Jimmy was pushing Keith out the door, and Keith was more than happy to leave. He got his things and headed back out to town, wandering over to the only place he knew.

In the second bedroom, Jonesy and Roger were stretched out on the bed, gossiping about boys and blissfully unaware that their friends had just tried to summon spirits from the afterlife on the other side of the wall. They assumed the Gregorian chants were a sex thing, because that wouldn’t be the first time.

“Like, I’m totally flattered by the kiss,” Jonesy rested his chin in his hands, sighing dreamily. “Now I finally know what it’s like to be you and have all these people love you so much. It’s nice.”

Roger pretended to be modest. “Oh, come on. It has it’s ups and downs. I can never get any work done because so many people want to have sex with me or take me out to dinner or buy me things. I keep getting my inside jokes and stories mixed up between people.”

Jonesy sighed again, although more dramatically. “That’s the _dream_.”

Roger sat up straighter, because now it was his turn to get responsible. After this morning’s debacle, someone had to guide the poor guy in the right direction. “Well, I know that at the end of the day I have Pete, you know? It’s okay to put everyone else aside because there’s one person who’s made just for you. You won’t miss out on having a ton of people adore you because that one person will be enough.”

Jonesy twirled a lock of hair around his finger. “John’s definitely that one person for me.”

Roger wrinkled his nose. “Even after everything that literally just happened? You still won’t budge?”

Jonesy gave him a look. “Why is everyone so set on breaking us apart?”

“It’s nothing malicious, I swear,” Roger said gently. “But a lot of us think Bonzo’s right. You and John aren’t as good together as you thought. You’re still good, but there’s definitely better for you two out there.”

Jonesy frowned, his ego clearly wounded. “Even you, Roger? I thought you were on my side.”

“I am on your side!” Roger pleaded. “That’s why I’m telling you this.”

“John’s the physical manifestation of everything I want and love,” Jonesy philosophized, his nose uncharacteristically in the air. He certainly had changed, although it was unclear if it was for the better. “He made me so much more in touch with all this culture and art and love and sensuality I would have never thought to explore if it weren’t for him. There’s a whole new world of possibilities that he’s introduced me to.”

“Which is fine, you can do that with any of your friends.”

“I want more than just a friend, though,” Jonesy protested. 

“Not to intrude, but it always seemed like you and John were just really good friends who just kissed and stuff,” Roger noted, trying to be delicate.

“It’s more than that!” Jonesy cried. “We do other couple stuff.”

“Like?”

“Y’know. Sex and stuff.”

Roger raised an eyebrow.

“We do!” Jonesy protested. “We do all the sex stuff that you do because we’re a real couple and we’re in love.”

Roger held his breath, then decided to plunge for it. “You can’t force a spark if it’s not really there.”

Jonesy’s shoulders fell, because he knew Roger was right, but admitting it to Roger and himself was the hard part. “But we click.”

“And I click with you,” Roger explained gently. “That’s why we’re friends. But I know that there isn’t a spark that makes us soul mates or anything.”

Jonesy kept twisting a lock of his hair, but anxiously this time. “I’m never going to find anyone else like him. I can’t possibly let him go.”

“What is it that makes you like him?”

“What isn’t there to like?” Jonesy tried to force the dreaminess but it came out as desperation. “He’s artistic and cultured, and big and burly and handsome, and he’s a real _man_ with all that facial hair and big muscles, like he can totally protect me, or pick me up and throw me out of a fucking window or something…”

“That reminds me a lot of someone else we both know,” Roger said, kindly avoiding Jonesy’s apparent kink for being picked up and thrown out of a window.

The fact that Jonesy already knew who he was referring to said a lot. “Yeah, but it’s _Bonzo_. I’ve never thought of him like that.”

Roger smiled. “That may also be because you hadn’t started exploring your sexuality until the end of the second installment in this series.”

“I don’t know…”

“You are friends, aren’t you?” Roger asked.

“The best of friends,” Jonesy frowned, because he had been neglecting his best friend a lot lately.

“So you know you already click, and you can trust him, and he’s everything you’re looking for already.”

Jonesy raised an eyebrow. “But wouldn’t that be forcing a spark that isn’t there?”

Roger reached over to put his hand on Jonesy’s thin shoulder. “Maybe don’t rule it out. Bonzo’s good for you.”

Jonesy shrugged. He had a lot to process over what happened this morning. He really did love John, probably, although everyone was saying he was being stubborn. Still, he couldn’t get over how flattered he was that Bonzo had passionately declared his love to him like in an old romance movie. John never did that sort of thing for him. Well, not anymore…

They paused their deep life chat when they heard who they presumed was Keith make a mad dash out the front door. Jimmy and Robert came out grumbling a few minutes later, after what sounded like they were pushing furniture back to it’s original spot. Roger and Jonesy exchanged a look. Must have been some pretty good sex, then.

They went out to meet Jimmy and Robert, who had migrated to the kitchen to make something to eat. They looked startled.

“We thought you had left,” Robert laughed nervously. “How much did you hear?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard from you before, don’t you worry,” Roger winked, still totally unaware. Jimmy’s cheeks went red for a different reason.

Everyone sat around the table with something to eat, chatting casually. Jimmy blew on his cup of coffee to cool it down. “So, what are you all up to today? As if we could pack any more drama and action into the rest of the day.”

“I’ll do it,” Robert took the challenge too literally. “We can always be more dramatic. Who do you think we are?”

“Today, like any other day, I’m going to win back John’s love – “ Jonesy started, but everyone rolled their eyes politely. 

“Jonesy, baby, give it a rest for one day,” Robert groaned. “Why don’t you and Roger go out and do some touristy things? All we’ve done on this vacation is make bad decisions and not even in a cool rock star way.”

“I was actually going to try and find Pete,” Roger frowned sadly. “I still feel like he’s angry at me and it’s killing me inside. I need to do some grand romantic gesture to apologize and win him back.”

Jonesy threw his hands up. “So Roger’s allowed to win back his soul mate’s love but I’m not?” 

Jimmy was about to tell him it was different because Jonesy and John weren’t soul mates, but instead he just smiled and patted his hand. 

Robert slurped noisily at his tea because the attention wasn’t on him and he felt uncomfortable. “Get Pete a ring and propose already. I’ve been dying for you two to get married so you can join Jimmy and I on married couples cruises and stuff.”

Jonesy and Roger exchanged a look, and forced a laugh because they didn’t get the joke. 

“What do you mean?” Roger asked casually.

Robert spoke slowly for them. “I mean that Jimmy and I don’t know any other married couples to do things with. No one is really on our level yet.”

Jonesy kept laughing awkwardly. “See, when you say it like that, it implies you two married each other. That’s pretty funny. Haha.”

Now Jimmy and Robert exchanged a look. 

“Didn’t you tell them?” Jimmy asked quietly. 

“I thought you told them,” Robert whispered back. 

Jimmy started to laugh. “Oh, dear. This is quite the predicament.”

“Did you guys actually get married?” Roger shrieked. 

Robert nodded eagerly. “When we went to Las Vegas. It was implied towards the end.”

Jonesy kept laughing uncomfortably, unsure of what to do. “Come on, you guys are just teasing us. You don’t even wear rings or have the certificate or anything.”

“We don’t want the press to get the news until much later,” Jimmy explained. “So we wear the rings somewhere…else.”

Roger looked horrified. “Ew, do you mean you have a ring around your – “

“We wear them on necklaces, you fucking pervert,” Robert scolded. To prove it, he and Jimmy pulled matching chains from under their shirts, showing off the identical gold wedding bands. 

“Okay, but what about a legal certificate? I won’t believe it ‘till I see it,” Jonesy’s voice had gone high pitched since he was in distress.

Jimmy gestured to the framed marriage certificate on the fireplace mantle which no one bothered to look at since they were all too busy trying to fuck each other. It was next to a photo of them kissing in front of the Elvis wedding officiator, and beside an embroidery that said ‘home sweet home’. 

Jonesy looked like he was having a breakdown because he was actually having a breakdown, and Roger had descended into a full blown panic. “I didn’t know you were, like, actually married. I’ve done incredibly _intimate_ things with you guys. With _married people_. I’m a homewrecker. This totally violates my morals and values.”

Jimmy smiled at him kindly. “Roger, you don’t have any morals or values.”

“I have a few!”

Robert moved his chair closer and was patting Jonesy’s back. “Breathe, baby, breathe. That’s it.” He turned to the others. “Anyways, what were we saying before this?”

Roger stared into the bottom of his cup of tea. “I have to win back Pete’s love so I can fuckin’ marry him, I guess.”

“Delightful!” Robert cheered. 

Jonesy went to the sink to splash his face with cold water. He was drowning with many realizations. Jimmy and Robert were obviously inseparable, but the fact that they went ahead and did something as meaningless yet meaningful as getting married was astounding to him. There was nothing stopping them from doing anything. There were no rules. Jonesy could do whatever the goddamn fuck he wanted with his life. What was he going to do with this freedom? The freedom of 

“But how?” Roger wailed. “I’ve done so many romantic things for Pete that I’m running out of ideas. It would be mortifying if I did the same thing twice.”

Jimmy turned quiet while he contemplated something heavy. He took a deep breath. “Roger, I have an idea.”

Roger leaned across the table eagerly. “Well, what is it? I have to do it as soon as possible. I can’t live another minute without him.”

Robert shot Jimmy a look. He pressed two fingers to his temple and sent Jimmy a telepathic message. Jimmy nodded. Yes, he was going to do _that_. Jimmy turned to Roger. ”It may be one of the most romantic, passionate gestures you’ll ever make in your life. Are you ready to set the bar that high for yourself?”

Roger nodded solemnly. “I have to. Pete’s worth it.”

Jonesy leaned back against the counter, struck by the sincerity of the situation. It made him realize something else he didn’t want to realize. 

“Okay. We may need a few hours to prepare,” Jimmy announced. “Robert, Jonesy, meet us at the bottom of the beginner’s ski slope at 7 pm sharp. Bring Pete and make sure he’s watching.”

Robert seductively twirled the lock of hair they cut short for the satanic ritual. “Aye aye, captain.”

Jonesy and Robert scattered to go get ready, and left a few minutes later. Jimmy turned to Roger. He had turned very sombre and serious. Now, he was the one who commanded the attention. “Roger, I need you on the couch.”

Roger was taken aback with the command, but blushed and obliged nonetheless. Turns out it wasn’t a sex thing, which was extremely disappointing. Instead, Jimmy clasped his hands behind his back and paced around the tiny living room like an old, wry professor while he began to lecture Roger. 

“There’s a reason why I always get dramatic whenever my love of skiing is mentioned,” Jimmy sighed wistfully.

“What?”

Jimmy broke character. “Four chapters ago you asked why I always get dramatic whenever my love of skiing is mentioned.”

“Right, right, I remembered. I figured that plot line was dropped. Sorry,” Roger waved his hand. “Continue.”

Jimmy resumed his old, wry professor stance and paced again. “There’s a reason why I always get dramatic whenever my love of skiing is mentioned. But you have to promise not to tell anyone. Not another band mate, not another friend, not a random stranger on the street. Not another living soul.”

Roger put a hand on his heart. “I swear.”

Jimmy nodded. “It all began in 1961. I was the ripe age of seventeen when I had been officially titled the number one semi-pro skier in the world. I had sponsorships, fame, money, glory, and the world’s eye on me. I was the sweetheart of the sports world. Legends all over Europe were pleading to coach me professionally when I would turn eighteen. I had my whole life as a sports star ahead of me, and I thought I was invincible.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Roger broke the mood again. “You were a professional skiier?”

“I said semi-professional.”

Roger shook his head. “This seems, like, really out of character. Almost to the point of being unbelievable. This writing is so sloppy, I can’t even – “

“Oh my god,” Jimmy groaned in frustration. “Not everything has to make sense. Not all of this is sloppy. If you stopped interrupting every five seconds, maybe you’ll see that all the inconsistencies in life make sense towards the end.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” Roger said. “You seem quite on edge today, is there anything you wanted to talk about?”

“I want to maybe, you know, tell you why I always get dramatic whenever my love of skiing is mentioned, but apparently that’s unrealistic.”

“I’m _sorry_. Keep going.”

Jimmy cleared his throat loudly. “Anyways, I made sure to erase that part of my life from the public eye and literally burn every paper trail that suggested I was that charming, lovable semi-pro ski star. There was the biggest competition of my life the day before my eighteenth birthday which would decide, literally overnight, which direction my life would go in. But fate would have it that the morning the big competition, I suffered a debilitating injury that would ruin my career.”

Roger opened his mouth, then closed it again. Even if he didn’t believe it, it still was pretty sad. 

“I was, erm,” Jimmy scratched the side of his nose. “You know, masturbating vigorously in the shower, as one does when you’re seventeen, and I lost my grip on the shower shelf and slipped. Just like you, I broke my ankle. I was devastated. I sat on my bed in my towel crying – “

“Wait, I’m so sorry, I just wanted to ask – “

“I had one leg up on the shelf so I could finger myself and I slipped on the shampoo suds that I had just washed out of my hair."

“Gotcha, thank you. I’m a very visual person, you see.”

“No problem,” Jimmy continued. “Anyways, total devastation, my dreams were ruined, etc. etc. I sat on my bed crying. My parents and my coaches were telling me to drop out of the race. There was no way I could compete that afternoon.”

Roger furrowed his eyebrows. “Were you still in your towel?”

“Yeah, I always thought that was weird,” Jimmy continued, again. “But I looked around my teenaged room and realized I had dedicated most of my life to skiing and I had nothing else going for me, except the guitar collecting dust in the corner under my shelf of medals and ribbons and trophies. But that’s another story for another time. The moral to this story is that I decided I had nothing else to lose. In a split second my career had been slit at the throat and I had never felt more relieved and liberated. I could do anything. So I decided to compete anyways. I wanted to finish this chapter of my life on my own terms. It would be triumphant and glorious.”

Roger shifted in his seat. “Sorry to interrupt again, but may I ask how this relates to Pete? You’re talking about finishing chapters of your life and I don’t think that’s the direction I want to go in.”

Jimmy waved his hands around. “Okay, so I’m a bit scattered. I don’t usually tell the stories around here. But I’ll tell you what I did that day.”

Roger sat up straight again, trying his best to focus politely. 

“We made a sketchy temporary cast with a tensor bandage and a splint. I hobbled to the ski lift and was thwarted by my competitors, but I paid them no mind. When I got to the top, I put the one ski on my good foot. The pistol was fired, and I took off down the hill and raced with the top semi-pro male skiiers in the world on one ski. I finished dead fucking last and killed my hard earned reputation, and only then was I truly free.”

Roger gasped dramatically and clapped his hands to his cheeks. “But _how,_ Jimmy?”

“I’m going to teach you,” Jimmy announced. “You’re going to prove that this disability won’t prevent you from living your life the way you want to – “

“I respect that concept in general but this is so fucking cheesy where are you getting this shit – “

“And that you can do something triumphant for Pete despite all odds. You’ll get up there and show him that you would go against what the world wants you to do just to prove your love for him. Surprise him with your abilities and sweep him off his feet.”

Roger stared at him, combed a hand through his hair, then finally sighed. “You know, it’s so crazy, but it might actually just work.”

“So you’re willing to accept the challenge?” Jimmy smiled.

“I will,” Roger smiled back. “Because if there’s anything I learned this past sixty seconds, it’s that the absurd might just be the truth. Let’s do it.”

Jimmy dashed to the kitchen and started making one of those high protein drinks with raw eggs and kale and shit. Wait but not literal shit haha that would be so gross. Roger dug through the catalogue of records in the living room for a good soundtrack to a movie training montage but they only had happy orchestral music. He put on London Symphony Orchestra’s rendition of Madama Butterfly just as Jimmy appeared behind him with a horrid looking drink. Roger plugged his nose and drank the whole thing and barely avoided salmonella but I’m pretty sure salmonella wasn’t invented in the 70’s but whatever. Jimmy pushed the furniture in the living room aside, rolled up the rug, and cleared the room for physical activity. 

They exchanged an intense look, and began their training montage. 

Jimmy started coaching Roger, training him on his one foot. He made Roger hold yoga poses for minutes at a time on his good foot. Roger piggybacked Jimmy and did one legged squats which sounds absurd but all the best things in life are. Roger is mega strong too so it worked. Then, Jimmy made him do laps from the living room to the kitchen by only hopping on his good foot. Jimmy made him practice leaning on all sides of his foot and holding his balance so he could shift his weight and steer on the ski. By the time Roger had earned a break, his ankle muscles and calves were burning. 

When Roger collapsed on the couch, Jimmy tossed a towel around his shoulders and started rubbing his back. He gave Roger a water bottle and started drilling pep talks into him. “Look, Roger, you’ve got this. Stay in your own head. You’re the only one on that hill. The tip of that ski is the arrow that will guide you straight to your lover’s heart. At the end of every trial and tribulation, he’ll be at the bottom of that metaphorical but also literal hill, cheering you on with that goofy lopsided smile of his. Going down that hill successfully means that you can set your mind to anything and accomplish even the most absurd and impossible things in life. All you must do is balance yourself. Ground yourself. Trust yourself. The ski does not move you. You move yourself. The ski is merely helping to guide you with the skills you already possessed at the top of the hill. When you align your mind, body, and soul, you _transcend_ the ski. You _are_ the ski. You are earth, wind, and fire. You are success. You are power.”

Roger rolled his shoulders back. “You’re quite the poet.”

“Masturbating in the shower can do that to a guy.”

Roger turned around, just briefly, and smiled. “Hey, I’m really sorry about your doomed professional skiing career. I’m going to do this to honour your legacy, yeah?”

Jimmy leaned in and kissed his temple. “You don’t need to do any of that. I’m just happy to share my dramatic and previously untold past to help out my friends.”

Roger paused again. “So just to clarify, you 100% totally and legitimately were a pro skier when you were a teenager?”

“Yes.”

“And you 100% totally and legitimately and actually and legally married Robert for real?”

“Yes.”

Roger took in a long breath through his nose, centering himself in the universe. “Everything is weird and nothing makes any sense. I think that’s the beauty of life.”

“This dramatic sports injury has been so good for you,” Jimmy noted. “You’re really coming around and learning so much about yourself.”

“And it’s all thanks to my lovely friends,” Roger grinned. He took the towel off his shoulders, dabbing the sweat from his forehead, and turning back to Jimmy. “Alright. I’m ready to do this.”

Jimmy put his hands on his hips. “Go take an ice cold shower and then dress in thin layers. We have a heart to win back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next two chapters will be paced differently!! we're in the homestretch, folks!!


	10. the ox

Keith was incredibly distressed because of, like, three things. He really didn’t want to be alone nor did he want to process his feelings, but that’s life. Keith braced himself against the cold as he walked through town towards the retirement home. Obviously Sweden in December was cold, but something about the icy chill in the wind today was making Keith anxious about things to come. 

Keith got to the retirement home just after they were finished bustling with lunch. Keith let himself in because he felt right at home at this point. He smiled at the nurses who glared back at him, and walked through the hallways, popping his head in to say hi to all the gambling regulars. William was back in his room, holding hands with his new lover, Mary, and they both smiled and waved at him. Finally, Keith knocked at the door to Oskar’s room at the end of the hallway. 

“I said I don’t want to go to shuffleboard,” Oskar called. 

“It’s me, Kenneth,” Keith called back.

“Oh. Come on in, son.” Keith opened the door and slipped in. Oskar was on his bed in his pyjamas, reading. “You’re here early.”

“I’ve run into a bit of trouble, and I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” Keith admitted. He pulled up Oskar’s desk chair to the side of the bed and sat next to him. 

“You make it look like you’re visiting me in the hospital while I’m dying,” Oskar grumbled. “Go on, you can be more casual.”

Keith rolled his eyes and put his wet boots up on the bed. Oskar hit his feet away with the book, and Keith pulled away. “Why does everyone keep hitting me with books?”

“Because you make bad decisions with your life,” Oskar said. 

“Everyone needs to stop saying that after they hit me with books!” Keith started to melt down. He had been through a really rough patch and no one was giving him a damn break. “So what if I have no self respect and I abuse prescription drugs daily just to feel normal? We all have to get our kicks somehow.”

Oskar furrowed his pale eyebrows. “I didn’t ask, but if you need to project all your issues, go ahead. I’m going to go back to reading.”

“No, I need someone who’ll fucking pay attention to be and provide some pity!” Keith cried. 

Oskar stared him down. “Will pity really make things better?”

“I dunno, maybe,” Keith crossed his arms, turning stubborn. “Look, everything sucks and I’m not getting what I want and I feel like I deserve some nice things.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Oskar muttered, and went back to his book.

But Keith yanked the book from him. “No, listen to me. I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you even want?” Oskar asked, because he had zero context to anything. 

“I want everybody to fuck off, but also to love me. And I want John in the romantic poetic love ballad way. I want him to be my boyfriend and my lover. I’m the goofy dim archetype but I need love too,” Keith wailed. 

“And why can’t you date John?” Oskar asked, reserving his own homophobic judgement because he could at least tolerate Keith. 

“Because everything sucks and it’s all complicated.”

“Right,” Oskar yanked his book back and slipped the bookmark in, then put it aside. “Go get the deck of cards. Top drawer with my socks.”

Keith stood up from the chair and meandered over to the dresser to get the cards. He was sniffling the whole time. Oskar took the deck of cards and started shuffling, instructing Keith to sit down again. “Now, let’s play a few rounds. Any game you like. If you win, you can whine all day about your problems and fix them however you want. If I win, you have to take my advice and actually use it.”

Keith sat back and pouted like a sullen child. “Fine. But can we gamble with real money this time? I need more cash to fulfill aforementioned drug abuse problem.”

“If you win, you can choose to take another bottle of my prescription pills and bring yourself voluntarily closer to death,” Oskar told him. 

“Sounds reasonable,” Keith shrugged. “What are we playing?”

“Anything you’d like,” Oskar said. “I don’t think we can play poker with just the two of us, though.”

Keith paused to think. “I would say Crazy 8’s, but that’s more of a game of strategy. We need a game that challenges destiny.”

“How about Go Fish?” Oskar suggested. It all seemed so pedestrian. The childish card games, the fluorescent lights of a sterile retirement home, the starchy bed sheets, the rigid plainness of life. Keith bobbed his head. Oskar began to deal cards. “Go Fish it is, then. Best two of three?”

They were playing their uneventful first round when Margot knocked and popped her head in. “Bonjour, Oskar. Just wanted to see if I could borrow your – oh, it’s Kenneth! So nice of you to see us.” Margot let herself in, and she went over to pinch Keith’s cheek affectionately. “Oskar never stops talking about you.”

Keith smiled but it was still a sad smile because he was very sad. Oskar groaned. “Oh, piss off, Margot.”

“Va te faire foutre, Oskar,” she snapped. 

“Putain!” Oskar growled back. He turned to Keith again. “Do you have a four?”

Keith gave him his four, and Margot went back to fussing lovingly over Keith. “Where’s your friend, eh? The handsome one.”

Keith winced. “We got into a fight, I’m afraid. He’s always on my back trying to get me to do things his way. I know his way is always the right way, but sometimes it really pisses me off because I don’t always want to do things right.”

Margot frowned pityingly. “Poor baby. Stubborn little boy, you must always do what is right.”

Keith shot Oskar a look that said that pity always helps, thank you very much. “We were all thrown off by your love story yesterday. We both did some silly things to try and get the people we love to love us back, and we ended up sabotaging each other.”

Margot sat on the edge of Oskar’s bed, looking confused. “Wait, I thought you and him were lovers?”

Keith gave Oskar his last card and lost the game with significantly less matched cards than him. “No, surprisingly that never became a thing. I wouldn’t _not_ try it, though.”

Margot looked to Oskar for clarification, and Oskar just shrugged. “They’re homosexuals, just not for each other. I have no clue how this works.”

Keith took the cards and shuffled thoroughly for a few minutes. “Anyways, Margot, whoever wins best two of three games will get to decide my fate.”

Margot clapped her hands excitedly, and got off the bed. “Finally, some action around here! I’ll round up the others.”

Both Keith and Oskar protested, but Margot left anyways. Keith had just finished dealing their cards when Margot, William, Mary, Peggy, and the other usual suspects came shuffling in discreetly, closing Oskar’s door quietly. 

“No one touch anything, and no snooping,” Oskar warned everyone. Now that Keith had shuffled and dealt, he started winning. Word got passed around through their audience about how high the stakes were. There was a growing tension in the room that made both Keith and Oskar anxious, and Keith began to doubt his own ability to randomly ask Oskar for a card.

“Got a two?” Keith asked. 

“I hear Kenneth and Moustache Guy are fighting for the same lover,” Margot whispered to the others. 

“Go fish,” Oskar said. “Got any eights?”

“I thought they were homosexuals for each other?” William whispered back.

“Go fish,” Keith said. 

“Maybe they’re trying out polyamory?” Peggy whispered. 

Keith won the second round, which greatly improved his mood and his ego. Everyone clapped polite golf claps. Oskar grinned at Keith. “Next round determines everything. You ready?” “I’ve got nothing to lose,” Keith said, which obviously wasn’t true. He grabbed the cards and started shuffling again. “But I’m going to shuffle and deal again so I win again.”

Oskar humoured Keith and let him do it. Keith dealt them the hand of fate. It may have just been the overzealous writer talking, but Keith felt the room grow colder. Everyone watched the game unfold in a tense silence. 

Keith got the first match. Oskar got the next two. Keith got another two. Oskar got one. Keith got one. It wasn’t fun without Bonzo. He got another match. And another. Oskar got the one after that. They hit a rut and had to keep drawing cards.

“In the event that I win,” Oskar started, taking one of Keith’s cards and tipping the score to his side. “I want you to be honest with Moustache Guy and the other guy you love and the other guy you wanted to fuck. That’s the only way anyone’s ever going to find peace and a resolution.”

“And in the event that I win,” Keith won two more pairs and tipped the score back to his side. “I want more painkillers.”

Margot started biting her nails. Their audience sat on the edge of their seats as Keith and Oskar reached the last few cards of the deck. 

“Got a two?” Oskar asked. Keith handed it to him. “Trust me on this one. Communication is key. And you deserve a healthy love.”

“Got a seven?” Keith asked, and Oskar handed it to him. “I’m doomed, and that’s okay. I’ve lived my whole life alone, and I can keep doing it.”

“Got a four?” Oskar asked, and Keith handed it to him.

“Got a nine?” Keith asked. 

Oskar shook his head. “Go fish.” The audience gasped. Keith reached for one of the last few cards in the deck and found the nine he was looking for. The audience gasped louder. 

“I haven’t seen a game like this since I was in the trenches in WWII,” William shook his head in disbelief. “They’re both tied. And there’s only two cards left!”

Keith had picked up the last card in the deck. He stared at Oskar. Oskar stared back. Oskar cleared his throat. “Keith, do you have a three?”

Keith looked down at the three of clubs in his hand, the only card left. He looked back at Oskar. “No, I don’t.”

The audience gasped, horrified. 

Oskar glared. “What? Of course you do. There’s literally no other card it could be.”

Keith checked the three of clubs again. “Nope, go fish.”

“There’s no cards left to draw because you took the last one!” Oskar cried. “We’ve counted all the matches in the 52 card deck which I know isn’t rigged. I have a three card, and you have the other.”

Keith shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do!” Oskar yelled. “It’s my turn, I won fair and square. Now give it to me.”

Keith pressed the card against his chest. “No.”

“Kenneth!” Margot wailed.

“I’m so confused,” Mary cried. 

To the best that he could without feeling below his waist, Oskar tried to lean over the bed and grab the card from Keith. “Give it to me!”

“No!”

“Give me the card!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Keith smacked Oskar’s hands away but the old man was determined to wrestle the card from Keith. William was begging them for peace and love. Peggy was fanning herself. 

“Give me the fucking card!” Oskar yelled, snatching Keith’s wrist, but Keith fought back. 

“No!”

“Be quiet! You’ll get us in trouble!” Peggy cried. 

Oskar grabbed both of his arms. Keith wriggled out of his frail grasp. He ripped the three of clubs in half, then into quarters. Everyone’s jaws dropped. Keith tossed a piece of card in his mouth and ate it. Then another. Then another. Then another. It still wasn’t, in hindsight, the stupidest thing he had ever done.

“Kenneth!” Margot shrieked.

“What the fuck?” Oskar yelled. “Keith, spit it out.” He grabbed the collar of Keith’s shirt. “Spit it out!”

Keith shook his head violently, and forced himself to swallow the sticky remains of the mashed down plastic playing card. He felt it rip and burn all the way down his throat to it’s painfully slow descent into his stomach. 

“What the hell?” William was out of his seat, and Mary was crying, and the small room erupted into chaos. 

“Kenneth, you fucking fool!” Oskar grabbed Keith by the shoulders and shook him violently. “Why did you do that?”

Keith couldn’t explain the real reason. He couldn’t explain a lot of things about himself. But he stared Oskar dead in the eye and told him, “I needed to be in control of my destiny for once. Thank you for all you’ve taught me. I really – oh, god – “ He clutched at this stomach, which was starting to cramp up violently. 

“You damn fool,” Oskar muttered. He instinctively reached for his book to hit Keith upside the head with, but willed himself not to. The poor kid was going through enough. “Someone phone him a taxi. He needs to go to the doctor’s.”

“Just stick your fingers down your throat, it’s free,” William said, and Margot hit him. “What? In WWII…”

“Shut up about the war for like, five seconds, we were all there,” Oskar ordered. “Peggy, go phone a taxi.”

Peggy stood up and left for the payphone in the corridor. Keith croaked weakly, “No, I’m fine.”

“You just ate vinyl laminated playing cards,” Oskar told him. “I had those cards with me during the Spanish flu outbreak. They’re not pristine.”

Keith started gagging and feeling nauseated and like he had acid reflux all at once. 

“It’s only going to get worse from here,” Oskar told him as Peggy came in to collect Keith and discreetly take him to the taxi. Oskar pleaded with Keith one last time. “Make things right. Be honest about what you want. And stop making stupid spur of the moment decisions.”

Keith nodded feebly as Peggy came and took his arm. As they shuffled slowly across the room, Keith turned back to the senior citizens. “It’s been fun, folks. Thank you for everything. I love you all.”

Everyone looked worried, but waved to him and sent him off with tender messages and wishes for him to get well soon. Before he left, Keith took one last look at Oskar. Oskar gave him a hero’s salute. Keith nodded, and smiled. 

Despite his growing abdominal pain, Keith tried to saunter down that hallway with all the dignity he had left, with Peggy loyally on his arm. The taxi was waiting outside by the time they made it to the front door. Peggy offered to pay his fare, but Keith assured her not to. “It’s about time I come clean. I’m a drummer in the world’s most famous rock band. And Bonzo’s also a drummer, and his band is also famous and good but not as famous and good as us.”

Peggy patted Keith’s shoulder affectionately as he slipped into the back seat of the car. “All we do is read the local newspapers and gossip all day. We’re not fucking stupid. We know.”

Keith smiled up at her as the taxi revved up. “I’m gonna miss you guys.”

“Safe travels, dear,” Peggy closed the door and waved as the taxi sped off. 

Keith was taken to the nearest walk in clinic, which, for your reference, was the same offices of Dr. Handsomeface who put Roger in a cast. Keith dealt with the same receptionist who also tried to seduce him, because she really didn’t feel like her job was fulfilling and she wanted to be a free spirited rock and roll groupie. Keith explained to her that they were all fucking gay anyways, and he felt like he was dying. Due to the language barrier, the receptionist didn’t pick up on the gay thing and their secret was accidentally safe forever. The handsome doctor, Dr. Handsomeface, took Keith in right away. 

“Why did you eat a playing card…?” the doctor asked skeptically from his desk chair while Keith sat pitifully on the examination table. 

“I’m losing control of my life, and I really just wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I lost that card game. It was a very climactic moment in my life, you see,” Keith explained. “Also, I’ve been abusing painkillers and these other pills that make me stop being an alcoholic so maybe that’s fucking around with my sensitive digestive system.”

Dr. Handsomeface looked at Keith for a long time and sighed wearily. He started scribbling some notes on his notepad. Keith waited around with his hands in his lap, growing accustomed to the tight cramping and nausea. He looked around the room and tried to read the posters, but they were all in Swedish. He noticed that on Dr. Handsomeface’s desk he had a J.R.R Tolkien quote stuck onto his bulletin board reading, ‘Little by little, one travels far’. Keith’s eyes lit up. 

“So first of all I would recommend just a simple over the counter constipation medicine to clear things out,” Dr. Handsomeface told Keith. “It was one card so I don’t think we need to take any drastic measures. Just call a doctor again if the pain persists past three days. And down here, I’ve written down the name of my friend in London, he’s a therapist…”

“So take a giant shit, got it,” Keith said quickly. He gestured to the Tolkien quote. “Say, you’re a fan of good ol’ John Ronald Reuel too, eh?”

Dr. Handsomeface looked at him, taking a moment to clue in. He smiled fondly. “He’s my favourite author of all time. I’m his biggest fan.”

“I’m going to take a shot in the fucking dark here because I’m at wit’s end,” Keith started laughing in spite of the whole situation. “You don’t happen to have anything he might have owned, do you?”

Dr. Handsomeface leaned back in his chair. “As a matter of fact, this package just came in this morning. Talk about coincidence, eh?” 

Keith watched as Dr. Handsomeface dug through his bag on the coat hook behind him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The doctor pulled out a cardboard box that contained a small wooden box that contained a fountain pen. He showed it off and started explaining every detail to Keith like a fucking geek. Keith started to find him less attractive. “Look, it’s an actual pen he used! I bid on it at a charity auction to raise money for a new library for illiterate children. It would be fantastic if he used this pen on one of his manuscripts, but hey, I’d be happy even if he used it to write his grocery lists!” When he laughed, he snorted through his nose.

“Say, um,” Keith swallowed quickly, also keeping himself from puking because of the card trying to be digested in his stomach. “Could I have that pen? I’ll, uh, give you a blowjob.”

Dr. Handsomeface stopped laughing and turned serious. Then, a slow smile spread across his face. Keith started to wonder why everyone scolded him for making poor spur of the moment decisions. Clearly they worked out well for him. Unless it involved getting out of a game of Go Fish, however… 

“I might be willing to part with it,” the doctor smiled devilishly. “Because then I could tell them they lost my package in the mail, and they’ll send me another auction item to make up for it. And every other thing in that auction was better than a fucking pen.”

Keith grinned, more satisfied with his quick thinking skills. But he made sure not to run into the same trouble again. “Can you prove it’s legit?”

The doctor dug through the cardboard box and pulled out a certificate of authenticity signed by the famous rich people in charge of the charity, and… “Look, Tolkien’s great-nephew signed this to prove it!”

Keith couldn’t help but laugh again. “Alright. It’s a deal, then?”

“It’s a deal,” the doctor stood up to close the office door. “But the blowjob will from Keith to James, not patient to doctor, yeah?”

“Understood,” Keith slid off the examination table and stood in front of James Handsomeface. He had never given a blowjob before in his life, but he was going to do this so he knew what to do with John. He tried not to let on to James that had no clue what he was doing. Smart, no; but Keith was a damn good improviser at least. He spoke commandingly. “Sit down.”

James turned flustered, but obeyed. Keith cleared his throat and got down on his knees in front of his chair. His stomach was still twisting, but Keith was a strong man and persevered through anything. He reached out to undo James’ belt, then the button on his trousers, then pulled down his zipper. He took Jame’s cock out, which of course was huge because he was a rich and successful and handsome doctor, why should he have any inconveniences in his life? Keith stroked it a bit until he was hard. Then, Keith did some stuff with the tip of his tongue, and some stuff with his hand, and some stuff with more tongue, and then some sucking, and then some licking, then he grabbed his balls, and James was moaning and groaning loudly and Keith was bored but he tried to pretend it was John. James slipped himself fully into Keith’s mouth and kept saying he was gonna cum and Keith was hoping he’d hurry up because his knees hurt. James finally grabbed the hair at the back of Keith’s head and thrust into his mouth a few times which was by far the best part, and when he finally came at the back of Keith’s throat he accidentally thrust too hard and hit Keith’s gag reflex, which they both discovered that day that it was incredibly fucking sensitive. Keith started gagging, and the taste of cum in his mouth was too new, and it triggered the acid reflux again and his stomach was upset as it was, and Keith pulled his mouth off in enough time to throw up a bit into the rubbish basket by his desk. A few chunks of undigested playing cards came up, which was good news for everyone involved. Blowjobs are the gift that keeps on giving.

“That was so fucking hot,” James groaned, catching his breath. Keith was flattered because he put in literally no effort and he was still a pro. He totally had this in the bag. And thankfully it was totally chill that he puked a little because he sort of needed to. Keith stood up and stretched, relieving his poor knees. James let him have a drink from his water bottle to rinse his mouth, and miraculously, Keith’s stomach was starting to feel a bit better. James smiled kindly. “Would you like me to reciprocate…?”

“Maybe next time,” Keith said, abandoning all his morals and ‘a blowjob is a blowjob’ values, because he was in love with another man, damnit. He took the fountain pen and put it back in the wooden box. “Thanks so much for the pen. That was a weird twist of fate. But I’m really glad you understood. I sort of owe a guy.”

“No problem,” James was way too chill for the bizarre series of events that just happened, but sometimes that’s not a bad thing. He smiled again, and went to scribble something else on a fresh paper on his notepad. He tore it off and handed it to Keith. “I quite fancy you. Next time you’re in town, give my wife and I a call. We’d love to have you over.”

Keith took the note and furrowed his eyebrows. “You have a fucking wife? Dude…”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that,” James waved an entirely too casual hand. “We’re polyamorous. And I just know she’d adore you too. I think it would work out well.”

Keith put his hands on his hips. “So you’re allowed to do that? You can date and fuck a whole group of people at once?”

James zipped himself back up. “Well, as long as all parties are aware and fully consent. Communication is key.”

“Swedish people are fucking nuts,” Keith slipped the note in his pocket anyways. If John didn’t love him back, he could always quit the band and flee the country to live with rich polyamorous doctors in Sweden. “Anyways, thanks for all that. I feel a lot better after you made me puke.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” James smiled. He watched Keith slip the wooden box in his winter jacket and collect his things.

“Oh, by the way, could you write me a prescription for Percocet or Xanax or something?” Keith asked nonchalantly. 

“Keith, no.”

“Yeah, okay.”

James tore off the first paper from his notepad. “But my friend in London? The therapist? Make sure you give him a call sometime, okay?”

Keith took the note and also shoved it in his pocket, pretending to care. “Sure thing, mate.” And with that, Keith took his things and left. He had a lot of redemption to do. 

He started with a quick trip to a record store.

John was back at the club in his domain. He was upset by everything that morning, and sought refuge in one of the green rooms backstage with some loyal followers that hung around the club at all hours for moments like these. His audience was growing out in front of the stage, but John was more content laying on a plush couch with his head in a pretty blonde woman’s lap as she stroked his hair soothingly. 

“They just don’t understand me,” John sighed. “It’s hard work having a cult that worships you. I can’t help that I’m one of the best musicians to ever walk this earth…another grape, please.”

A pretty redheaded girl dangled the vine of grapes over his mouth so he could eat one. 

John finished chewing while a super hot blond guy held his hands and kissed his knuckles. “I just can’t stand to live with this disrespect anymore. Don’t you guys agree?”  
The three doting on him and the other handful of people in the room all looked at each other. No one spoke English. John sighed deeply. “Is there anyone out there who understands me?”

The redhead was the only one smart enough to fetch the sexy brunette who ran the audio system because she was mostly bilingual. With John’s permission, she entered the green room. “Yes, my holy saviour?”

“Could you run out to the shops and get me one of those English to Swedish phrase books please?” John asked. He pulled out his wallet and handed her some cash, but she refused. 

“Please, I will take care of that,” she told him.

John beckoned her closer, unwilling to move from his comfy spot. He took her hand and pressed the money in her palm, then folded her fingers over the bills into a tight grip. He even kissed her hand. “Go on now.”

The woman had to lean against the counter and catch her breath, fanning herself frantically. When her arousal finally ceased enough, she left to run the errand for John. She came back just as the audience was starting to fill up and he was expected to go onstage and address everyone. 

“Thank you, love,” John smiled at the brunette, and motioned for someone to shut and lock the door. He was feeling grateful, and he knew they wouldn’t be here forever. So he kindly and lovingly shagged his disciples, one at a time so they all felt special and appreciated, and left them unbelievably satisfied. He finished with/in the brunette, who was incredibly enthusiastic, and John felt good, but it wasn’t as good as it could be. He poured himself a post-sex drink to get things blurry and fun again, because he was thinking of Keith again and that made him sad for some reason. 

He decided to pour a drink out for all the disciples in the room and say a toast to them, and then they did another round, and another, and another, then they lost count, and John’s cup kept being refilled so he kept drinking. At one point it was overflowing and spilt on his clothes, but everyone thought it was the funniest thing in the planet because they had all gotten way more drunk than intended.

Someone pretty came and told John he was expected onstage in five minutes. John scrambled for the phrasebook and flipped through the pages. His finger was wobbly but he was sure he followed the line for the Swedish translation of “thank you for coming out tonight”. He said it over and over and over again to himself until he was positive he memorized the right sentence. Another pretty person tapped on his shoulder, and presented him with a bass guitar. Someone else was ushering him onstage. His crowd was loud and demanding. They had gotten used to having John around. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he felt like if even the tips of his toes went past the stage, he would be consumed by them all. 

John was just capable of remembering to plug the bass into the stacks of the amps. He improvised something quick to warm his fingers up. The sound rumbled through the floor. At the edge of the stage, the audience’s greedy hands stretched as far as they could to touch him. John was inching backwards, away from them. It certainly wasn’t the alcohol this time; the room was too hot, the lights too bright. He was disoriented and beside himself the whole time. He felt himself sway on his feet. 

John slipped into his usual performance mode and played song after song, but the crowd were cheering and screaming so hard that John couldn’t hear himself play. He asked for a microphone so he could sing at least. The beautiful brunette came on with a mic and a stand, and John thanked her before running through the songs he wrote for The Who, but no one was paying attention to the lyrics. The crowd just shouted his name and declarations of devotion. 

John got overwhelmed because no one was listening to him. He stopped playing and grabbed the microphone, drunkenly slurring into the microphone. “I need your attention everyone…” The crowd quieted down enough that John could hear himself. 

“I would just like to say thank you for having me in your beautiful country,” he said, and the crowd cheered even though half of them couldn’t understand him. “I love you all!”

The cheers came like rumbling thunder, more powerful than his bass. 

John panicked and tried to remember the Swedish phrase he wanted. He pumped a triumphant fist and shouted into the microphone, “Jag kommer att döda Gud!” 

The crowd was taken aback for a split second, but then they rose into goddamn hysterics. They weren’t cheering with praises anymore. Their devotion had turned rabid. Their loyalty was violent. The fans at the edge of the stage threatened to climb onstage with him to smother John with love. John was confused as to why they had reacted so strongly to what he said. 

Little did John know, he got the translations mixed up. It was not what he wanted to say at all. 

At the ski resort, Robert and Jonesy had managed to track down Pete and Bonzo relaxing in the chalet after a morning of hiking and skiing. Pete had been prepared to play therapist and work through all of Bonzo’s problems, but surprisingly (or unsurprisingly?) Bonzo was content to just stay powerful and silent, getting out all his tension while they hiked through the forest and found different courses they wanted to try. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing you wanted to talk about?” Pete struggled to catch up with Bonzo while they climbed over the uneven snow and fallen trees carrying their equipment. Pete was taller and had longer legs than Bonzo and shouldn’t have to be out of breath and running to catch up with him. But Bonzo was feeling particularly angry with the world and he tore through the snow like a giant, bulking Bigfoot on a mission. 

“I’m not really in the mood to talk about anything, I wanted to come to distract myself,” Bonzo called back to Pete over his shoulder. He found a secluded course for them to ski, with only two other tracks on the otherwise untouched snow. Bonzo dropped his skis into the snow and attached them to his boots, not waiting for Pete to catch up. “Does this one seem okay?”< “Yes, absolutely,” Pete was panting when he finally caught up with Bonzo and attached his skis quickly. Pete had just clipped the strap on his helmet when Bonzo took off down the hill and sliced through the snow. Pete followed after him a few seconds later. The slope had a lot of gentle turns, but the surrounding trees were so thick there was barely any noise. Pete felt like he was going through a labyrinth because of how narrow the course was, and how dense the forest was. 

They landed at the bottom and caught up again, breathless and exhilarated, and then they went on to the next one. Pete could maybe get a few words out of Bonzo before they resumed skiing again. It was only when they exhausted themselves and retired to the ski chalet for a snack and a warm drink that Bonzo was in the mood to talk. Pete noticed how Bonzo would cleverly flip the conversation back onto him, always asking a question or a clarification, and before Pete knew it he was rambling about his childhood and his musical influences and his parent’s marriage and his deepest darkest fears and his political alignment and his stance on nationally funded healthcare. So, Pete used the exact same tactic to respond to everything with a question to which Bonzo was obligated by social convention to answer truthfully. It took some clever manoevrering, but Pete finally got Bonzo to relax and open up a bit. Turns out, they shared a lot of similar experiences in primary school, a lot of favourite blues and swing bands, and the same taste in wine. Pete was delighted that he finally took the time to know the guy because he knew they would be friends long after this. 

Robert and Jonesy found them in the ski chalet, which was also coincidentally the first place they thought to look. Robert was pleased that everyone seemed to be in a good mood. Jonesy relaxed and was kind to Bonzo like he would be any other day. Bonzo was being awkward and everyone else was telling him to fall in love with the guy, but there was plenty of time for that. Jonesy, like he was learning thanks to Robert and Roger, was just letting things happen.

Robert checked his watch. “Pete, we need you to come out and see something. It’s so important you might explode.”

Pete raised an eyebrow. “Could I enjoy it without exploding?”

Robert rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

Jonesy hurried them along. “Come on, we have to be at the bottom of the hill in four minutes. Get your things!”

Robert wound his arm through Pete’s, because he actually knew what the plan was going to be, and brought him to Jimmy who was waiting on the exact position that they needed to be at the bottom of the hill. He had just come back down after setting Roger up at the top of the one-step-above-the-bunny-hill slope. It was safer, but also for theatricality, you could see Roger decently from the bottom of the hill. Jimmy kept Roger hyped up, rubbed his shoulders like a boxing coach, and clasped his helmet for him. “Rog, you’ve got this. I have full confidence in you. I already know I’m going to be proud.”

Roger pulled his scarf down from his mouth and flashed a beautiful white grin. “Thank you, Jimmy. I can’t begin to say how much I appreciate this.”

“Be careful not to jinx it,” Jimmy teased. He quickly checked his watch, then turned back to Roger. “Alright. I have to go back down now and show them where to stand to watch you. Are you sure you don’t want to do a quick trial run?”

Roger shook his head. There was so much at stake that Roger felt almost peaceful in how sure he was. “I don’t need it.”

Jimmy took a deep breath, then smiled. He put his hand in for a two person team cheer. “’Hail Satan’ on the count of three, ready?” Roger put his hand on top. “One…two…three!”

“Hail Satan!” They both cheered joyfully. The older skiers a few feet away from them looked horrified.

Jonesy and Bonzo trailed behind Pete, Jimmy, and Robert since they were only here for the show. Jonesy tried to get something out of him but Bonzo was uncharacteristically silent, and that was bizarre coming from them two. 

“I hope this won’t be too much of a spoiler, but I hear it’s a dramatic declaration of love,” Jonesy murmured to Bonzo.

Bonzo cracked a smile, then let it fade away because he was still in a mood.

Jonesy tried again. “I really like huge declarations like that…like someone bursting into your room and confessing his love for you and then embracing you passionately? That’s the best.”

Bonzo looked over and frowned. “Come on, Jones, don’t tease me.”

“I’m not teasing!” Jonesy cried. “I mean it, honestly and truly. The more I think about it, the more romantic I found it. I was so shocked I didn’t react the way I wanted to.”

Bonzo looked down at his boots. “Okay.”

“Come on, no need to frown!” Jonesy nudged him. “We’ll have to do that again so I can properly kiss you back next time.”

Bonzo gave him a look. “Don’t you have things with John still?”

Jonesy made a face. “John owes me at least two romantic declarations to make up for how he’s been neglecting me.”

“Guys, it’s 7 pm! It’s going to happen!” Robert was way too excited, shushing everyone around them. Jimmy crossed his fingers in his gloves. Pete couldn’t figure out for the life of him what was going on.

From the top of the hill, which wasn’t too far but it was far enough, a miniscule Roger shouted down to Pete at the bottom. “Pete! I’m going to risk my life to prove my love for you so we can make up again.”

Pete cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted back. “What did you say? You’re too far away.”

Roger took a deep breath, and used his rock star vocals. **”I said I’m going to risk my life to prove my love for you so we can make up again, Pete!”**

Pete turned to the others, embarrassed. “What’s he saying? Keith exploded a drum kit in my ear in 1967, I can’t hear shit anymore.”

Jimmy whispered back quickly. “He’s going to _risk his life_ to prove his love for you as an apology for everything.”

“What?” Pete whispered back. “I’m not angry at him at all. I thought he was angry at me. I was going to apologize in person tonight.”

Jimmy grabbed his shoulders frantically. “Don’t fucking tell him that. Just accept it and swoon into his arms.”

Pete nodded. “Got it.” He cupped his mouth again and shouted back up. “I’m deeply humbled and ready to accept this declaration of love!”

Roger shouted back down. “What?”

“I said,” Pete used his rock star vocals. **“I’m deeply humbled and ready to accept this declaration of love!”**

“You’re deeply _what_?”

People around them were staring.

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes,” Jimmy groaned, then took his glove off to whistle with his fingers and give Roger the signal to go. They all nervously watched Roger prepare.

“Use the French fry, Roger!” Jonesy yelled up to make Bonzo laugh, and finally he got Bonzo to crack up and chuckle. It was definitely worth the glare from Robert.

At the top of the hill, Roger entered the recesses of his own mind. He was the only skier on the hill. The one ski represented unity and power. He _was_ the ski. Roger tucked his injured leg up like a flamingo. He leaned forward and shot his arms out behind him. He looked like an idiot, but an aerodynamic idiot. With a bit of awkwardly wiggling, he brought himself to the edge and launched himself off slowly. He crouched down further and found his centre as he made it over the hump and picked up his speed. His breath was taken away in sheer exhilaration. He soared down the hill, looping from side to side and showing off. There was only one moment when he turned too quickly and wobbled, but he regained his balance quickly. As he raced towards the end, everyone moved away, leaving Pete at centre stage. Roger narrowed his eyes, and hurtled towards him. In an impressive and completely improvised sweeping finish, he literally swept Pete off his feet and carried him bridal style as he slowed down to a stop a few feet away. Thank god Pete was light as a feather.

Pete had his arms thrown around Roger’s neck. He cooed in complete sincerity. “Roger! You’re my _hero_!”

For his pride, Roger stayed balanced on one foot and refused to let Pete down. His leg muscles were on fire but he suffered through it. “Pete, I love you. I’m sorry I wasn’t accepting of your lifestyle. You’re not doing anything wrong. And you’re still the same man I know and love. Please forgive me, because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Because you’ll never fucking guess what Robert and Jimmy told me this morning.”

Pete insisted he be let down, but only so he could hold Roger’s face tenderly. “I forgive you, if you forgive me from ever thinking I should hide things from you. Your love is the most pure, welcoming, forgiving, and healing thing I have ever had the privilege of experiencing. I love you more than anything.”

Roger looked like he was going to cry because he was actually going to. Before any dramatic waterworks would start, Pete leaned in and kissed him passionately. Their friends cheered for them because it was mega romantic and love can conquer anything and replenish what this world lacks. 

When the kiss ended, Pete pulled back ever so slightly. “Wait, what did Robert and Jimmy tell you this morning?”

“We can get to that later,” Jimmy swooped in, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders and pulling them in close. Robert came in the other side and finished the football huddle. “So, everyone’s fine and good? No more resentment? No more hidden feelings?”

The four of them looked at each other. “No, yeah, we’re good,” they all unanimously agreed.

“Great,” Jimmy’s smile was devilish. “Now that I’ve helped all of you, you can all help me. I would like to draw your attention to the fact that January 9th is quickly approaching.”

They all paused, and Roger exclaimed. “Right! It’s your birthday.”

Jimmy looked at the other three. “And I distinctly remember the four of us made a pact to celebrate our birthdays from now on?”

Pete gasped excitedly. “Group sex!” All four of them cheered and chanted. “Group sex! Group sex! Group sex!”

Again, more horrified looks from the people around them. 

Roger laughed, joyful and carefree again now that his problems were all solved. “So are you saying you’ve been nurturing us and our love for each other this whole trip so that you can have a foursome on your birthday?”

Jimmy turned bashful. “Well when you put it that way it sounds bad. I would have taken care of you and supported you all regardless if I was getting a foursome out of it.”

“Oh, Jimmy! You beautiful, kind soul,” Robert gushed, and now it was his turn to embrace his lover and kiss him passionately. “You’re more generous and kind and peaceful than fucking Gandhi or whatever.” 

A few feet away, Jonesy and Bonzo sat back and watched their other four friends take turns smooching each other in public. But when you’re hanging out with someone like Bonzo, it’s suddenly okay. He makes you feel better about these things. Jonesy smiled at him. “That was the weirdest fucking chain of events I’ve ever witnessed in my life, but it’s the thought that counts.” He paused, getting a sudden Plastic Wrap Incident flashback. “I take that back. The second weirdest thing.”

Bonzo smiled softly. “Do we really expect anything different from our friends, though?”

“You’re right,” Jonesy chuckled. “Hey, what do you say we go out for a pint and properly catch up? I promise I won’t talk about John the whole time again. And I’m not just saying that because we’re going to both be the only loners tonight. I mean that if there’s anyone I would want to be stuck with as a third wheel, it would be you.”

Bonzo shyly looked over at him. “Do you really mean it?”

“I do,” Jonesy smiled. “You make me feel secure in a different way that I never realized. You protect me like it’s your second nature. I can relax around you. I can let my posture go. I don’t have to work hard to impress you. We can simply exist with each other.”

Now Bonzo was beaming like an idiot. Their plans wouldn’t work out that night, however. The four of their friends came eagerly bounding up to them. 

“We’re going to take Roger to the disco!” Pete was laughing. “We’re going to show him how much fun it is. You two have to come with us.” 

They both shrugged. “It’s not really our thing,” Bonzo told them.

“Just this once!” Roger insisted, also laughing. “Let’s just go out and let off some steam and have fun.”

Jonesy exchanged a look with Bonzo that reminded him that they would never take ‘no’ for an answer. Plus, it could be fun. 

“Alright, we’ll come with you,” Bonzo said, and the blonds cheered.

“Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen?” Jonesy said innocently. 

Back at the club, John was just barely hinging onto reality. He watched everything happen in slow motion, still unsure if this was all an elaborate joke or completely real. Two people on opposite ends of the stage climbed on and ran towards John – a shorter muscular man, and a tall woman with her hair pulled up into a winter hat. She wore gloves indoors, which was never a good sign for anything. 

They both lunged for John, and he was in no proper state to defend himself. He had the gigantic bass he tried to swing at them. He was able to jab at the man with the neck of his guitar and push him back offstage, but that just made him the perfect target for the woman to come up behind him and capture him in a chokehold. He struggled to knock her off until she tightened her arm around his neck, and John distinctly felt the cool metal barrel of a handgun being pressed to his temple. To confirm his suspicions, she cocked the gun right above his ear. 

The woman yanked John over to the microphone stand. She started shouting into the mic. “We will take John as our divine sacrifice! His purity will cleanse us!”

John dug his nails into the skin of her arm which only made her grip onto him tighter. He could barely breathe which was sending him into a panic, but through his drunken haze he told himself to calm down enough to breathe through his nose. He was about to figure out where he could best kick her to throw off her balance but it seemed she already read his mind. Two men dressed exactly like her emerged to the front of the shocked silent audience and set up two sniper rifles right at the bottom of the stage pointing directly at him. The fact that they were only a few feet away guaranteed his demise would be swift. 

“John, if you try to make any move…” a fourth cohort tossed a girl onstage and pinned her down; blonde and angelic, and she looked too young to even be there in the first place. “…the girl gets it, and every person in this room gets it. Understand?”

He nodded. John tried to ease her arm off his neck even a fraction so he could breathe better. He was starting to go lightheaded.

The woman addressed the audience again. “If John loves us, he would sacrifice himself for us!”

Some radicals in the audience started hollering and cheering in agreement. 

“He will guide us to redemption!”

More cheering. They were getting aggressive. 

“We will kill God!”

The audience started chanting back with her. “Vi kommer att döda Gud! Vi kommer att döda Gud! Vi kommer att döda Gud!”

John closed his eyes and wondered how he got himself into this fucking mess in the first place. For the safety of the hundred (or more) people in the room, John obeyed every order they gave him. He convinced himself to admit defeat as the woman finally let go of the choke hold and ordered him to kneel centerstage with his hands behind his head, keeping perfectly still. John couldn’t bear to look anyone in the eye. It was all his fault, in a way, wasn’t it? But if you want to get treated like a god, this is how you’re going to get treated. 

The woman kept her handgun pressed to the back of his skull now, forcing him to keep his back rigidly straight without any other movement, because she could definitely be trigger happy. The audience’s energy was palpable, and very aggressive. 

John found himself longing for simpler times, like goofing off onstage with Jonesy in Las Vegas when they could truly get away with anything, like being gay strippers. Fuck, he and Jonesy never collaborated orchestrally like they planned. John fucked a lot of things up with Jonesy which he started to truly regret now, although maybe he was longing for someone soft and angelic to save him after all this. He really missed fucking around with Keith and Pete when they were young and foolish boys and they had their whole lives ahead of them. None of their friends joked around like they used to. Everyone was always so serious and focused on finding someone to settle down with. Or even the neverending antics of Roger and Robert which he suddenly missed, or how weird but surprisingly funny Jimmy is, or how much Bonzo was growing and changing and just trying to help his friends, and the last thing John ever said to the guy was to shame him for being such a pure soul when John was turning egotistical and nasty to the ones he loved because he was jealous and resentful that he wasn’t a good person anymore. John hoped that they would forgive him after all this ended. 

Aboveground, though, the group was just making their way down to the disco club, buzzing with their own excitement. By pure chance, on their walk down, they ran into Keith coming from the opposite direction. 

“Keith!” Roger and Pete called and waved to get Keith’s attention. He spotted them and crossed the street, hesitantly greeting everyone. It had been a long day. He hugged them all awkwardly, because he hid a 45 disc inside his jacket and didn’t want to break it. He even kindly acknowledged Bonzo and Jonesy, because he didn’t want to be angry at anyone nor have anyone angry at him. 

“Keith, are you okay?” Robert asked, suddenly very concerned. 

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” Keith shrugged it off, putting on a smile.

Robert furrowed his eyebrows, but approached Keith more gently. Everyone else gave them space. A package of cigarettes was passed around, and the others leaned up against the shop wall while they politely waited. Robert placed a hand on Keith’s arm. “Something in your energy is very off. Did you see something that frightened you?”

Keith looked away. “I mean, I’ve just had a really weird day, is all.”

“I can sense that,” Robert searched his eyes. “But there’s something else. Do you want to talk about it?”

Keith shrugged again. “I’m just anxious. It happens sometimes.”

“You poor thing,” Robert cooed, and Keith secretly liked the pity. “What’s on your mind, dear one?”

Keith scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know how to describe it. I just feel like something really bad is going to happen and it’s putting me on edge.”

“Are you…” Robert lowered his voice. “…on anything? Just wondering, no judgement.”

“Nothing except the usual cocktail of pills,” Keith forced a laugh. “No, it’s just, like, a gut feeling. But those things are usually wrong, aren’t they?”

“Come walk with us for a bit and clear your mind,” Robert took his hand and laced their fingers together, and it was instantly comforting. “I’ll send my best healing energies towards you.”

“Thanks,” Keith said quietly. They all resumed walking again, nice and leisurely and just admiring the sights of the old town. Keith made sure he and Robert were at the back of the crowd before he reached into his jacket and pulled out the wooden box. “Here. This is a …………… _Tolkien_ ………… of my affection.”

Robert gasped theatrically and took the box, opening it and peering inside. “Oh, Keith!”

Keith explained. “By pure chance, I ran into this. It’s one of Tolkien’s fountain pens. There’s a certificate of authenticity and everything, so you’re good this time. I swear I didn’t try to rip you off to spite you. I just didn’t know the pentagram was that specific.”

“Thank you, angel,” Robert kissed Keith’s cheek and slid it into his jacket pocket safely. “I forgive you for everything. We’re completely even. Thank you for making things right again.”

Keith sighed. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Was that bothering you?” Robert asked. 

“Yeah, but…” Keith felt uneasy. “This is about something else.” His thoughts trailed off. “Hey, you haven’t seen John today, have you?”

“Not since he left, I’m afraid,” Robert said, then squeezed his hand. “We’ll see him tonight at home, I’m sure.”

“Alright. Thanks,” Keith squeeze his hand back. He was feeling much more reassured and comforted, but the feeling in the pit of his stomach was still there. The closer they walked to the entertainment district, the more the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The seven of them kept walking to the club, easing back into laughing and joking around. It seemed everyone just wanted to leave all the drama behind them, at least for the night. 

When Jimmy and Pete guided them to the club they fell in love with, they started slowing down as they approached the venue. People were crowded around the outside of the building. Jimmy and Pete were skeptical, but they knew for sure it was the right address.

“Excuse me,” Bonzo caught the attention of a young couple trying to peer over the heads of the crowd to look for action. “What’s going on?” He asked them again in Swedish until they understood.

“I bet it’s just a movie star or something,” Roger murmured to Jonesy.

The young woman explained to Bonzo in Swedish, “There are rumors going around that someone got murdered in there. But other people are saying it’s a hostage situation and nothing happened yet. Other people are saying it’s some cult thing, which is common around here so not a lot of people are interfering.”

Keith felt icy cold drain through him. In a daze, he clutched desperately onto Robert’s arm. Roger caught Keith’s other arm before he fell over. “It’s John. John’s in there, I know it.”  
Jimmy spoke slowly and tenderly. “John is safe and sound. He’s probably at a bar somewhere else.”

“No, the woman said…” Keith started frantically searching the crowd of faces for John but didn’t find anyone remotely similar because there would never be anyone like him ever again, and Robert grabbed Keith’s shoulders to keep him from spinning around in circles. “The cult thing. John…there was a cult, it started off as a joke, but that’s where he went every night, I was the only one he told.”

The others exchanged worried looks. 

“Keith, are you…okay?” Even Bonzo looked worried. “Did you take anything today?”

“I know I’m a fucking drug addict but I know when I’m high and when I’m not because I hate being sober, that’s the fucking point,” Fear and frustration were bubbling at the bottom of Keith’s stomach and overflowing out of him. “I need you guys to trust me on this one. Please. If I’m wrong you can rub it in my face till the day I die but…there’s too much of a coincidence here.”

Everyone was swarming him, looking at him with big, pitying eyes, and no one was taking the addict seriously and he wanted to scream, but most of all he wanted John back but he couldn’t reach him. Keith felt small and trapped in a horrible, horrible way. 

Robert made a calculated risk and addressed the others. “I trust Keith.”

Everyone considered it, letting precious seconds slip away, before everyone else was at least willing to go along with Robert. Pete’s face was covered with worry. “What do we do?”

“There’s gotta be a back entrance,” Keith croaked, his mouth going dry with panic. “We probably don’t have much time.”

Robert stood up straight. “Two of you go get help. Two of you split up and search for John in the crowd and in nearby buildings. The rest of us will look around.”

Roger put out a cautioning hand. “Don’t actually go into the building or anything, alright?”

“But John’s in there,” Keith wailed, and he felt like everyone thought he was a child.

Jimmy frowned. “He’s right, we should let the police handle this one. Cults are really fucked up groups of people.”

“Go on, everyone split up,” Robert was sensing Keith’s anxiety and standing around wouldn’t help. Pete and Roger left to go search the crowd. Bonzo and Jimmy left to go one way, and Robert, Jonesy and Keith left to go another, when they faintly heard a gunshot from the inside. People everywhere screamed and most people started fleeing. This gave Robert, Jonesy, and Keith the perfect chaos to run to the back of the building next door. The parking lot was empty. Keith bolted to the fence that would bring them to the back of the club. “Guys, give me a boost.”

“Keith, you can’t go in,” Jonesy warned. “I’m worried for John too, but we don’t know how to handle this. We’ll get the police.”

Keith looked at Robert, and Robert looked conflicted. “I’m sorry, Keith, Jonesy’s right.”

“Fuck,” Keith was starting to lose it. He started to walk away, trying to catch his breath, and Jonesy and Robert followed hesitantly. On a dime, Keith tricked them and ran back to the fence with enough speed that he could jump high enough to climb it himself, but he smashed his chest against the top of the fence and had the wind knocked out of him. His ribs would bruise in no time. 

“Keith!” Robert and Jonesy dashed over, trying to grab Keith’s legs to pull him back down, but Keith hoisted himself up high enough and flipped over the fence, falling sloppily to the pavement on the other side and injuring himself further. 

“Keith, don’t you fucking dare,” Jonesy cried from the other side of the fence, and Keith realized that he was actually crying. 

“I love you guys,” Keith called back, and ran to the side of the building. He nearly ran into an overflowing dumpster because he was so disoriented. Keith looked at the dumpster, then up the side of the building. On the top floor on the left side of the building, there was an open window right above the dumpster. Keith took a deep breath, and snuck in through the side door reserved for taking the rubbish out. 

“Oh, fuck,” Robert covered his face, really properly getting worried. “Fuck. What do we do?”

Jonesy placed a hand on his friend’s arm. “I guess we’re going to have to trust Keith one more time.”

Robert bit his lip nervously, and looked back to the fence. “We have to go in with him.”

“Robert, are you fucking – “

“I won’t be able to live with myself if something happened and I didn’t at least try to help,” Robert told him, an unusual darkness to his voice.

“Don’t think like that,” Jonesy took a deep breath. And before he knew it, he was helping boost Robert up over the fence. 

Out on the streets, Bonzo and Jimmy scrambled to look for John but the more faces they passed, the more they knew they couldn’t find John for a reason. When that initial gunshot went off, Bonzo grabbed Jimmy. “Oh god. Did no one get the fucking police? We need to call 911!”

“We’re in Europe!”

“Fuck you!”

Keith had crept inside the building which immediately felt unsafe and scary to him. Downstairs, he heard what sounded like hundreds of people chanting and moving furniture and making chaos, but not the kind of chaos Keith was known to like. The main floor was deserted. He found the staff entrance to the basement and slowly went down the steps. In no time, Robert and Jonesy had caught up with him on the stairs. They slowly descended, careful not to make a creak, but towards the bottom, the noise was so overwhelming that it didn’t matter. Keith turned back to his friends before they left the staircase. With his heart thudding out of his chest for a bad reason this time, Keith reached out to grab Jonesy’s face. Keith was trying to change and be a better person, why not start now. He leaned in and kissed Jonesy’s cheek. He whispered to him, “I’m sorry for everything.”

“Me too.” Jonesy touched his shoulder gently, and his touch was so featherlight that Keith felt a wrench in his stomach and he knew he had to protect Jonesy no matter what. The man couldn’t hurt a fly if he tried. He was wrong to have thought Jonesy was malicious. 

Keith motioned for the two to wait there. He crept around the corner, where there was so much chaos in the room that no one would have noticed. He hid in the alcove where waiters would come out the kitchen and into the main area. He took in the scene, which was a warzone, and his eyes reached the stage where he saw John with three guns pointed at him, an assassination waiting to happen. Keith felt like he was going to puke again, and then he did in a nearby sink. He wiped his mouth and went back to the staircase. 

“John’s on the stage. He’s still alive. There’s three guns on him,” Keith recounted quickly before he was going to be sick again with worry. “The room is crowded which we can use to our advantage. There’s also stacks of amps on the stage which we can use to help us. There are two entrances to the wings, but unless we can sneak around to the dressing rooms or green rooms, we’ll be caught.”

“We can kill the lights, but then things will get so insane I’m sure they’ll just shoot everyone,” Robert whispered. 

“If I can get some sound cranked full blast, we can disorient everyone, including the gunmen,” Jonesy speculated. He and Robert turned to the man who was in the band that owned the world record for being the loudest band in history. 

“If you have the chance, turn up the frequency. Mess with the balancing and the distortion. If you go full blast on every amp, it’s a small enough space that you can make people faint,” Keith wiped sweat from his forehead. “Best case scenario, we blow a circuit and get some sparks and scare everyone off. You guys coordinate. When we get in our places backstage, do your thing. In the chaos, I’ll try to grab John and pull him off stage and run for the door. Or at least I can act as a bulletproof vest.”

“Keith,” Robert scolded him harshly this time. “We know you love John. We all do. But don’t do anything fucking stupid, alright?”

“Yep,” Keith lied, and they all knew it. There was no stopping Keith in any situation, let alone one where he was saving the love of his life. Silently, the three left their posts and went to find the backstage area where the sound and lighting boards would be Keith lead them. He had been navigating stages and backstages ever since he was a teenager. They were all designed more similarly than you’d think. 

Through the side staff doors and hallways and some signs that thankfully were in English, Keith found the greenroom backstage. They followed the noise to the stage, where thankfully no one saw them creeping around. There was a chance that they could be spotted climbing the stairs to the stage, so Keith climbed up on the stage and over the railing where they were still hidden by the German masking curtains. Robert and Jonesy followed him and climbed over. They found the op boards. Robert could at least figure out how to take off the lights onstage, but he searched the walls for house light switches as well. He figured he could flip every switch off and hope for the best. Jonesy knew how to work a soundboard, being an industry professional and all. He even ran into the box with the 45 records, all of them John’s songs. He dug through and found the perfect and totally disorienting song for their stunt – ‘The Ox’. And by pure fucking luck, today was the day they cleared the stage of everything but the amps since they had planned on John performing live that day. The record player was backstage with them. 

Jonesy loaded the disc on and fucked around with the dials and sliders on the soundboard to every setting the musician in him knew would be repulsive and jarring. He looked at Robert. Robert nodded; he was ready. He looked at Keith, who looked like he was going to puke, and then did in an old cardboard box as quietly as possible. 

Outside, the woman holding the gun to John’s head was riling up the crowd again. She got them to chant louder and louder, descending into madness before their ritualistic sacrifice. 

“Vi kommer att döda Gud! Vi kommer att döda Gud! Vi kommer att döda Gud!”

They all looked at Keith, who did a lot of stupid things in his life, including even earlier that day. But this would by far be the stupidest and most risky. He bent down and double knotted. The chaos was building out there, and to their horror, another gunshot rang out and nearly deafened them. It was a warning shot to the ceiling to get everyone freaked out like animals in a pen, but they couldn’t wait any longer.

“Vi kommer att döda Gud! Vi kommer att döda Gud! Vi kommer att döda Gud!” 

Keith gave them a signal, and mouthed, “Break a leg.”

Robert cut all the house lights and the lights onstage, plunging the basement into pitch black. Keith ran onstage. Robert hopped over the railing again and dashed for every light switch in the hallways and side rooms to fuck everyone up further. People started screaming and running around. Abruptly, Jonesy started the music right in the middle of the song where it was craziest, changing the pitch and the frequency and the treble to make melt your brain through your ears. People kept screaming, and now they started running for safety as a stampede started. Just before Robert killed the last light in the basement from the kitchen, Keith ran up onstage behind the woman with the gun. He yanked her back by the ponytail at the bottom of her neck. The men with the sniper rifles saw him just before the lights went off. The blindly shot at him, but the woman falling knocked John off his target, and Keith ducked immediately, and all the shots missed them. 

Keith made sure the woman was on the ground. He listened for the gun falling onto the hardwood stage but couldn’t be sure. John was on the ground too, protecting himself from the erratic gun shots. Keith groped around in the dark and grabbed John by the back of his collar and pulled him up. John struggled against him, thinking he was one of the assassins. Keith reached around and covered his mouth, and whispered in his ear. “It’s Keith. I’ve got you.”

John shouldn’t have trusted that voice in the dark, but he was almost positive he was hallucinating it. Truth is, when you’re that connected to someone, you just know.

Keith pulled John to his feet quickly, but John’s legs buckled from kneeling on the stage for so long. Keith wrapped an arm around his waist and hauled him offstage while everyone in the room went ballistic, and Keith found peace in the sea of chaos. He pulled John down the steps from the stage in the dark and they tripped and almost fell if it weren’t for John balancing his weight. Keith felt for the backstage door and opened it, letting the backstage lights flood through since they were the only lights Robert didn’t need to touch. Robert and Jonesy looked over just in time to see John and Keith make it out of there safely, arm in arm. 

But in the sliver of light before the door closed, they saw the woman and the shine of her gun slip through after them. 

Robert grabbed Jonesy and they chased after her. In the light, they dashed through the hallways searching desperately for Keith and John or the woman, but no trace. Robert pulled Jonesy through the hallways towards the fire exit. On the way out, Jonesy stopped to pull the fire alarm and trigger the noise as well as the sprinklers, knowing fully well he would ruin all that beautiful, expensive equipment. 

Keith didn’t need to waste time and check behind him to know he heard a third pair of feet chasing them. Keith pulled John and took an abrupt left to the staircase back to the top floor of the left side of the building. It gained them a few seconds ahead of the woman, and every second that she withheld from shooting them, Keith imagined she was lining up the targets on their backs. 

At the top of the stairs, there was a hallway of offices. The doors were all unlocked, because whoever was working up here must have heard the commotion and fled. Keith pulled John into the office on the corner where, sure enough, was that open window. He pushed John inside towards the wall just as the woman with the gun dashed in after them. Keith was bad at math, but took a calculated risk. If he was wrong, it was only about three storeys high, and John would most likely survive. Keith took a Rolodex from the office desk and threw it at the woman. He aimed to knock the gun out of her hand but it hit her in the face instead, which was pretty good luck.

Keith turned to John and gave him a smile. “Don’t worry,” he reassured him kindly, before he pushed John out the window, falling backwards down three storeys with a scream.  
Keith ran over to the woman who had stumbled backwards and fallen. Keith grabbed the gun before she could get it back and pointed it at her. “Stay down.”

The woman glared, and before she could tear into a villainous speech explaining her motives and her background, the fire alarm and the sprinklers went off. She was taken by surprise, so Keith took the time to throw the gun out the window and sat on the windowsill. He said a quick word of thanks to the powers that may be, and leaned back until he fell out like John. Keith fell backwards for a few peaceful seconds before his calculated risk paid off. He landed on the garbage bags of the overflowing dumpster. Keith bounced up as soon as he got the breath, and looked at John who landed about an inch away from him. Keith took his hand and helped John climb out of the rubbish just as Robert and Jonesy ran out the fire escape. 

They all regrouped and ran madly all the way to the parking lot, as far away as they could from that building. They were breathless, terrified, thankful, but mostly in disbelief. The absurd is often the truth, though. 

It took one second for John and Keith to look at each other in the light of the streetlamp, and they quite literally threw themselves into each other’s arms, clutching each other desperately, deathly afraid of letting go again. 

Jonesy sat back and watched the two of them in their own world, oblivious to everything else but each other, and he couldn’t even feel angry. Even the sadness was washed away by the relief. He loved John and wanted him safe and happy, and that was all. Robert sensed this, and wrapped an arm around Jonesy’s shoulders and pulled him in closer. It was the first time Jonesy had seen Robert properly rattled and scared. He swore he felt Robert still shaking. 

When Keith pulled away from the hug, everyone saw his cheeks were wet. He quickly wiped his face off with his coat sleeve. “Guys, I’m not crying, I just have emotional trauma in my eye…”

For some reason, that made all four of them crack up, and they just had to laugh to get over all those intense feelings. That was when John took Keith’s face and kissed him deeply, and Robert turned Jonesy away, but they just had to let it happen. That’s how it was supposed to be, and somehow that helped them all relax that much more.

From the front of the building, Jonesy noticed the flashing police lights, and all four of them made their way to the front of the building. Bonzo, Jimmy, Roger and Pete were standing with the police officers by their car giving details and physical appearances and other information fervently. Roger was the first one who noticed them emerge safely from the back of the building. The four pushed through the crowd to join the other four in a passionate embrace where all eight people became one. Tell me another group of eight men who were as close as these guys. Go on, I dare you. 

The group hug dissipated and revealed John in the middle of it all, safe and mostly unharmed, except he smelled like garbage which was off-putting except it meant he was alive so they didn’t mind. He cleared his throat and addressed them all. “I just want to say that whatever questions you have, I have no answers. I was wasted when it all happened and I wasn’t totally sure if it was real or not. I feel like I’ll need therapy for this later. But honestly? I’m just so happy to see you guys. I love you all.”

They all melted into an other pile of gooey love for each other, hugging and kissing again, and John spoke for all of them when he wanted to go back to their Churchillian roots and just keep calm and carry the fuck on. “Can we please just go home?” 

“I wish,” Jimmy laughed, letting all that tension go. “The police are going to want to interview us.”

It was inevitable, but they all went to go to talk to police and reporters and journalists and locals. They were used to this part. Keith held onto John’s hand and refused to let go. 

A camera flashed and got John’s picture. He turned to his friends and joked, “Well, this one way to get my ego in check.”


	11. the grand fuckin' finale #3

None of them really knew how to emotionally recuperate after a failed assassination attempt on one of their own, so they improvised. As John sobered up, they ordered heaps of greasy food to take home with them. The car ride was oddly silent, but in a peaceful way. There wasn’t much that needed to be said. They were all there, they saw the same things for the most part. That in itself was an immense comfort. They could all go to group therapy together. It would be their own little party.

Back at the chalet of drama and gay tension, everyone collapsed onto the couches, all snuggling in close together, and spreading all the food out on a coffee table like a buffet. Jimmy turned on the radio to give them some light background music. 

“I think,” Robert declared after a comfortable bout of silence as he reached to grab some chips. “That that’s our limit. We joke out outdoing ourselves with all the drama, but let’s say that assassination is the end of the scale.”

“Noted,” John chewed a hamburger quietly, and there was something so funny about the whole thing that they dissolved into another bout of nonsensical laughter. On top of that, everything had silently shifted into place, for real this time. Remember kids, the world sorts out its problems naturally when the time is right. Keith was leaning into John’s side, and John could relax knowing he was there. Pete was on the other side of John, knowing not to overstep his boundaries this time, but needing to protect John and keep an eye on him from now on. Roger sat on the end of the couch and ate while absentmindedly combing through Pete’s hair, which was getting shaggy again. He would have to pull out his clippers and give him a trim in the kitchen when they got back home. As much as they wanted to think they could take care of each other, Roger was always surveying on the outside because he was the one who took care of them all at the end of the day, and the band wouldn’t have it any other way. 

On the second couch, Jimmy and Robert curled up together, sharing food and being obnoxiously cute because they were a married couple and legally they could be gross and romantic whenever they wanted. And all of this just drew Jonesy and Bonzo back together, making them wonder why they had ever strayed farther away and experimented with other rhythm sections. But Bonzo would reassure Jonesy time and time again that it only made them appreciate their love more.

“I think,” Keith declared as he reached for a napkin. “That next trip we take together, we should go somewhere warm. Maybe somewhere plain and pedestrian too. We really need to just chill out for once in our lives.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. 

“I agree,” Roger said. “Where were you thinking?”

Keith deadpanned. “I don’t know…maybe Aruba?”

John put his plate down. “Keith, no.”

“Jamaica?”

Pete rolled his eyes. “Not again.”

Keith’s devilish grin burst out. “Ooh…”

Roger looked miserable. “Keith, we’ve been through enough…”

“I wanna take ya!” Keith belted.

John started laughing. “Please, no.”

“Bermuda, Bahama…”

“I think it’s lovely!” Robert cheered him on.

Keith cried passionately at the top of his lungs, “Come on, pretty mama!”

Now Robert blushed, and everyone looked at him for an explanation. “What? I get a boner when people call me mama, that’s why it’s in all our songs…”

“Really?” John teased. “Because thanks to _certain people_ in this room, I get a boner when I hear The Beach Boys in general. It’s hell.”

John and Jonesy exchanged a look and laughed, finding peace in bonding over the time they shared loving each other, even though it was an unspoken agreement that those wistful days were over.

“Well, thanks to some other _certain people_ in this room,” Jonesy continued. “I get a boner whenever I see plastic wrap now. Talk about a living hell.”

“Ooh! Ooh! I have another one!” Robert raised his hand “I get a boner when I have custard pie now.”

No one was surprised.  
“  
Whenever I see artsy black and white films I think of Pete and get turned on, does that count?” Roger asked. 

“I also think of Pete every time I read ads for guitars in magazines now,” Jimmy added.

“I’ll admit it, I get a little turned on in airplane bathrooms now,” Pete confessed.

“Hey, what about you?” Keith balled up the aluminum wrap and threw it across the room to get Bonzo’s attention. 

Everyone stared, waiting expectantly, because oddly enough, they couldn’t guess what Bonzo might be into. Well, they could guess, but that would be purely stereotyping…

Bonzo gave them all a strange look. “Does no one get turned on by a cuddle and some heavy petting anymore? What’s wrong with you freaks?”

All eight dissolved into more laughter, but on the inside, Jonesy felt immensely relieved. Now that was a sex life he could finally keep up with. 

Jimmy stretched out, already regretting eating so much, but not really. “Alright, I paid for it, you guys can clean up.”

“I’m too full to move,” Keith complained. 

“I’m severely injured,” Roger complained, too. “Truth be told, it didn’t help that I’ve been walking on the cast in the snow all week, but that’s a problem we can deal with later.”

“Don’t look at me, I almost just got assassinated,” John shrugged casually, then stood up to stretch. Everyone laughed. “I’m exempt from chores and responsibilities for, like, a year.”

“Damn, I wanna get assassinated too,” Keith grumbled, and it was a joke that only Keith could get away with, and they loved him even more for it.

Pete decided to clean up for everyone because he was just happy to have the gang all back together, safe and sound. John travelled casually to the second bedroom, and Keith meandered casually after him a few seconds later. The sock was tied around the doorknob, and everyone else just let it happen because such things are just meant to be. Jonesy was feeling good so he decided to treat himself and reorganize Robert’s kitchen into a system that made sense, starting with the plastic wrap. Bonzo knew it made him happy so he helped, happy to just steal a moment away with Jonesy, but only after he dug through the local phonebook. He made a few phone calls and cashed in a few favours from their touring years and arranged for all their friends at the retirement home to have a steak dinner sent to them from the fanciest five star restaurant in town, on behalf of he and Keith. For old time’s sake. 

Jimmy conspired with Pete after things were cleaned up, and they thought of a very delicious plan. Pete got everyone’s attention. He gestured to the second bedroom. “I feel like we’re going to need to put on some music soon to drown some noises out. Since none of us will probably ever go to a nightclub again, what about we recreate our own gay disco experience for Roger in the comfort of our own chalet?”

Everyone was on board. Jimmy went under the kitchen sink for the gay disco experience clothes. Even Jonesy, in the midst of reorganizing, hadn’t found it. They disappeared to the first bedroom to change and create a track list from Robert’s secret stash. Everyone waited in anticipation for the moment when Jimmy and Pete burst out dramatically in the hideously sequined disco jumpsuits. 

Roger crossed his arms, looking confused. “Why is this…sorta hot?”

Robert fanned himself. “Oh my god, my panties are _so_ wet…”

Bonzo and Jonesy would play along just for fun, but also act as the official school dance chaperones. They helped clear the living room furniture for optimal boogie space. They didn’t have a disco ball or cool moving lights, but Robert and Roger covered the lights with different coloured scarves for a cool spacey effect. Jimmy set up the first 45 on the hi-fi and pretended to speak into a microphone. 

“I would like to dedicate this song to Pete Townshend, my partner in crime, and the one who gets me on a different level than my husband does – “

“That’s me!” Robert shouted.

Jimmy continued. “Thank you for letting me share in your beautiful metamorphosis with you as you left your comfort zone to achieve a higher state of being. I love you, and I’m so honoured to call you my friend. But I also want to dedicate this, obviously, to my husband – “

“That’s me! I love you, baby!”

Jimmy continued, again. “I love you too, darling. But most importantly, to Roger, who has been going through a different kind of metamorphosis, which I was also lucky enough to share with you. Shout-out to your character arc, mate. We’re so proud of you for trying something new and growing as a person. We love you.”

Everyone clapped. 

“But without further ado, this song represents all of us. So let’s do a little dance. Make a little love. And most importantly, get down tonight.” Jimmy dropped the imaginary mic and started the song. On glorious hi-fi goodness, ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’ filled the chalet and cleansed it of any evil spirits and bad associations. Jimmy and Pete slowly walked towards each other from across the room, meeting in the middle. 

“You look beautiful in those sequins,” Jimmy murmured to Pete, stroking his cheek softly. 

“I can’t believe you dedicated this song to me. It means so much…” Pete started fanning tears away, but this was strictly a good vibes only zone. Jimmy took both of Pete’s hands and they had an ethereal gay experience dancing together washed in the blue glow of the makeshift lights. Robert too Roger’s hand and encouraged him to get on the dancefloor as well and soak up the gay sequin vibes. While Jimmy and Pete were off having an out of body gay disco experience, Robert taught Roger the best disco moves for hot gay blonds such as themselves, for future reference. Bonzo and Jonesy leaned against the kitchen counter and watched. Again, it was a weird thing to sit back and watch, but you could also feel a lot of the tenderness just by being physically present around these guys. 

Jimmy turned out to be a masterful DJ. He played all the chart toppers to educate Roger and they danced until they sweat. They looped around again with a slow ABBA love ballad because the mood called for a little lovin’. Pete offered a hand to Roger and they slow danced romantically in the gay moonlight.

Pete brushed a lock of hair behind his lover’s ear, kissed his cheekbone, and leaned in to murmur to Roger, “Did Jimmy and Robert actually get married or were they joking?”

Roger went on his tiptoes to whisper back into Pete’s ear. “They actually fucking got married. Rings and a certificate and everything.”

“What the fuck?”

“Right? That’s what I said!” Roger paused for a moment. Then, “Actually, speaking of marriage…”

Jimmy and Robert, husband and husband, enjoyed a romantic slow dance too, holding each other close and whispering sweet tendernesses to each other. Bonzo and Jonesy forgot to watch and got distracted talking about the movie that Jonesy saw with Robert and Roger. Bonzo broke away to cause trouble because he knew it would make Jonesy laugh. 

“Hey, hey, you sinners,” Bonzo called out, making his way to the dancefloor. “Leave room for Bonzo.” Jimmy and Robert laughed as Bonzo physically squished in between their slow dancing as awkwardly as possible. “There’s no touching allowed until marriage.” Everyone else in the room exchanged a look with each other, because Bonzo still didn’t know, but honestly at this point, they could tell him later. 

Bonzo and Jonesy got bored of chaperoning, so Bonzo dug through the newly organized fridge for two beers when the others weren’t looking. He gestured to the first bedroom, and got Jonesy to follow him. 

The moment the chaperones were gone, Jimmy put on the Donna Fucking Summer so things could get really steamy. Tonight, the living room was for nasty sex, and both bedrooms were for tender, overdue love making. 

Bonzo and Jonesy closed the bedroom door tight, uncapped the cold beer, and relaxed on the bed together. Bonzo wrapped an arm around Jonesy’s small frame, and Jonesy cuddled into him all safe and warm. It felt really good. It was different with John, but it was different with Bonzo. The important thing to note was that both were very good. Although Jonesy was okay with staying with Bonzo for the foreseeable future, because Bonzo was incredibly safe, and a bit more tame in an odd way. But he needed that right now.

In the second bedroom, John wanted to settle in for the night, but he couldn’t come anywhere near relaxing or processing his feelings and adrenaline. He had Keith who was adorably fussing over him and fluffing his pillows every five seconds, until John took his hands and pulled him onto the bed to lie with him. Keith lay mostly on top of John because he finally could. 

“It’s so nice to finally have a proper bed to ourselves,” John stroked Keith’s back lovingly.

“I’m not moving,” Keith’s muffled voice came from his buried face in John’s neck. 

John laughed, and started combing through his hair. “That’s okay. I don’t want you to.”

Keith enjoyed having his hair played with more than he would have thought. But still, he lifted up his head to look at John. “Come on now, I’m the one that’s supposed to be comforting you.”

“You’ve done so much for me in one day, let alone in my life with you,” John murmured. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“That’s a loaded question any day of the week,” Keith joked, which meant he wasn’t doing that well, but they’d work on it. “You were the one who almost died. How are you feeling?”

John shrugged, and looked out the window. “I’ll process it later I guess. I don’t really like to deal with problems head on.”

“Amen.”

John smiled. He let the silence settle between them, before continuing more seriously. “You saved me, Keith. Literally, but also in a mushy romantic poet way.”

“Hush,” Keith kissed along his neck. “I’m just repaying you for doing the exact same thing. You saved my fucking life. Even this is healing for me. No pressure, though.”

“Keith, Keith, Keith…” John rolled Keith off onto his back, and climbed on top of him. “What am I going to do with you?” He joined Keith for their first proper romantic kiss with intention, and John sighed with relief because they just fit together perfectly, even in the way he slotted his body against Keith’s, even the way they synchronized undressing each other. This is what it’s supposed to be like. 

John needed to take care of Keith now, carefully cradle his head, gently massage him open with his fingers. When John closed his eyes for long enough, his mind was kind enough to taunt him with flashbacks of the moment the lights went out on that stage. That was scary, but more importantly, it was when he was falling through blackness, in between the thin fabric of life and death when it was Keith who grabbed him from behind and caught him. “It’s Keith. I’ve got you.” But who was going to save Keith?

Keith’s back arched against the faded sheets when John stroked their cocks together in their deeply cathartic sex. His mouth cracked open and a whimper slipped out, and John fell in love with the beauty of his shameless vulnerability, even though it got him hurt time and time again and landed him into the wreck he was today Keith kept doing it anyways. John decided in the disgustingly tender moment, when Keith sat on his lap and rolled the condom on him with that look of boyish wonder in his eyes just like when they first met as teenagers, that John was going to be the one to protect Keith. He would do it right this time. He would wake up every morning next to Keith and save his life, day after day. Before they got too carried away, John held Keith’s face again for another deep kiss to seal the deal on John’s promise to him, although Keith didn’t know it just yet.

After a few seconds, Keith’s mouth grew into a smile and he had to break the kiss because he was giggling. John hadn’t seen him so happy in a long time, and he giggled too. “What?”  
“John, I just remembered what I did today. I was going to tell you but then I realized that when you say it out loud, it’s just…” Keith broke down into laughter. “John, I sucked dick for a fountain pen. A fucking pen, John.”

John and Keith fell back on the mattress and laughed for what felt like hours, because that was the fucking funniest thing on the planet.

Next door, Bonzo had gotten much too fascinated with undressing Jonesy piece by piece and tasting every single spot on his skin. Jonesy lay back and just enjoyed the peace, the comfort, and the good feeling. They had been at it forever now and Jonesy didn’t feel anxious whatsoever. And even better yet, Bonzo had a drink out and waiting for him, and he completely forgot about it. Once he was stripped down entirely, Jonesy stretched out his long delicate limbs and started teasing. “Are you trying to reclaim me?”

Bonzo looked up from kissing inside Jonesy’s thigh. “Maybe.”

“John’s done a lot more than just kissing,” Jonesy grinned, and thankfully, it went over well. Bonzo started stroking Jonesy with one hand and using his fingers for something much different. Jonesy couldn’t get over how big Bonzo’s hands were, wrapped around him like that. He started tugging at Bonzo’s clothes. “Hey, you gotta catch up here.”

Bonzo was quiet like John was, but this time it was less from intensity and more from just enjoying the silence. Bonzo took off his shirt quickly, then kicked off his jeans, then pulled off his boxers and his socks. When he looked back up, Jonesy’s jaw was to the floor, and his eyes were less than subtly staring between Bonzo’s legs. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ.”

“What?” Bonzo went to cover himself up, figuring Jonesy was appalled because he didn’t shave much since he wasn’t expecting to be in this position right now.

Jonesy pointed to his cock. “Bonzo, that’s going to fucking kill me.”

Bonzo then realized it was supposed to be flattery because male worth is based on how big your cock is. He scratched the back of his neck. “I can assure you everyone’s lived to tell the tale. But if you do die, I’ll tell your family you were saving orphans from a burning building.”

Jonesy laughed, and sat up to wind his arms around Bonzo’s neck and kiss him some more. “And I thought John was big…”

Bonzo lay him back down again, and rolled Jonesy onto his front before Jonesy had a chance to cover the tattoo. He gasped. “Oh my _fucking_ god.”

Jonesy had been through this enough times. He rolled back over and posed, playing coy. “It’s for John Cleese.”

Bonzo furrowed his eyebrows. “Come on.”

“It could be for John Lennon,” Jonesy ran a delicate finger up and down Bonzo’s thick arms. “It could be for John Bonham…”

“Oh? Is that so?” Bonzo kissed down Jonesy’s neck to his collarbone. 

“But really, it’s for John Paul Jones. It’s been a long journey but I’m finally in love with myself, whoever that may be,” he smiled, and it was mostly a joke. But really. 

Jonesy gasped because Bonzo had him pinned down in a split second and was doing something very interesting with his tongue, but Jonesy also gasped because he realized John would never know about the tattoo ever in his entire life. 

Bonzo was careful with Jonesy, since he knew it was his first time ever going all the way, and, not to be a narcissist, but Bonzo wasn’t the easiest size to start with. But they were tender and loving with each other. Bonzo had endless love for Jonesy, and he liked to think he knew exactly what Jonesy needed. Jonesy gave Bonzo all the love he needed, and he knew Bonzo well enough that he also knew what he needed at what time. They felt like an old married couple. Their souls had been in perfect tune for what felt like decades and decades and decades and decades and decades and decades and decades. 

"Oh, John," Jonesy moaned into Bonzo's ear, because the nicknames seemed a little silly for a time like this.

"John," Bonzo groaned in response. It still sounded off. He was mostly teasing. "Wait, how do I know you’re moaning out my name? You could be still moaning his”

“I could be moaning my own name.”

They took all the time they wanted, because their friends could wait for them for once. Once Jonesy was physically but also emotionally ready to do this for the first time, Bonzo was so careful not to hurt him that Jonesy found himself digging his nails into the skin of Bonzo’s back and demanding _more_.  
One might say that’s uncharacteristic, but soul mates bring out the best in each other, no?

All circumstances involved, Bonzo was thorough. He did everything he possibly good to spoil Jonesy and make sure nothing could go wrong, even going as far as placing a pillow under Jonesy’s hips for added comfort. Jonesy joked that he wanted a sparkling water while he was at it, and then had to physically pull Bonzo back to bed, insisting that no, he was completely joking, and also, that he was the sweetest, kindest human being that ever lived. 

But the actual part? The big event that Jonesy had been fussing over after all this time? Well, there was a point where Bonzo hit this perfect spot inside him, and in a split second Jonesy understood why his friends were all over each other all the time. With the right person and the right moves, sex felt _amazing_. It got overwhelming at times because, y’know, Bonzo was packing a fucking anaconda in there, but Jonesy was with his safe person, the one he always ran back to for comfort, and there was no one’s arms he’d rather be in for something as vulnerable but romantic as this. 

Jonesy wrapped his legs tighter around Bonzo's hips. "Unh, John Henry Bonham..."

Bonzo thrust harder. "Mm, John Richard Baldwin..." he kept his pace, but had to ask, "Is this weird?"

Jonesy looked up at him. "Surprisingly, no."

In the second bedroom, John and Keith needed to be rigorous with each other, because they were very scared people, but it just proved that they could take each other to the very ends of the line and still trust the other to reign them back in when needed. It was a risky game to play, putting all your trust in another person to pull you back from the ledge like that, but if you’re going to love someone with your whole heart, why wouldn’t you? 

John finished as deep inside Keith that he could possibly get, and they grabbed desperately at each other because it felt like they couldn’t get close enough. They stayed like that for a long time, John not daring to pull out of him yet, until finally maybe they were ready to part just slightly. That just meant that they would have even more fun the next time this happened.  
Still cuddling, John combed Keith’s hair back and thought about life. He paused only to whisper, “Hey, Keith? I’m still stuck in vacation mode. What day is it today?”

“Fuck, I dunno,” Keith tried to remember. “Does your watch have the date on it?”

“Not this one.”

“What about the watches on the dresser?”

“Are they Jonesy’s or Bonzo’s?”

“No clue.”

Keith stumbled out of bed, naked and sore, to examine the watch faces. The dusty one in the back was the only one fancy enough to have the date and year on it as well as a 24 hour clock. “Ah, it’s December 30th, 1977. 3:07 a.m, Sweden time.”

Keith joined John in bed again and made up for the lost heat. John held him close and stretched an arm behind his head. “At least we’ll be back in London for New Year’s,” he mused.

“Please, let’s not go to fucking Eric Clapton’s house for a party again. I hate that guy,” Keith grumbled.

“Me too, what the fuck?” John exclaimed, and they kissed again because they were so happy about it. Then John flopped back down to his contemplative state. “It’s almost 1978. I wonder what the year’s going to have in store for us?”

“I hope something exciting at least,” Keith curled into John’s chest. 

“You have nonstop excitement in your life,” John teased. “Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Y’know, because it’s new year’s and stuff, and people always make resolutions, right?” John’s voice went quiet.

“Yeah.”

“Well, uh,” John didn’t know how to go about it. He didn’t know he was going to be in this position so soon. “Y’know, I’m probably going to see a therapist since I almost got murdered. And, y’know, we’re rich and stuff, so we can afford this stuff even though it should be covered in public health care. But anyways, uh. You know. We could get better together, sorta thing?”

Keith looked up at him. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“You are kind of overdoing it on your prescription drugs lately,” John said quietly. “And of course doing stuff on the side can be fun but not in heaps...”

“So you’re trying to tell me I should get professional help for my drug habit?” Keith asked him. 

“Y’know, yeah. That’s exactly what I’m trying to say. I really care about you and if you’re going to be that good at sex, then I want to have you around for a long time,” John teased, and thankfully got a smile out of Keith. “But really. You know I’m here to support you. And everyone else in this chalet will stand behind you and help you get the help you need.”

Keith was thinking a lot of things, and stayed quiet. Finally, he told John, “If we can get Bonzo in on it for his drinking, then I’m in too.”

“Do you think we can get a special discount? Treat two mental health issues, get one free?”

Keith snorted. “Stop, that’s hilarious.”

“I mean it though,” John kissed his forehead. “Let’s do things right this time.”

“I know, I know. Now can you pass a cum rag, please? It’s dripping out of me and it’s cold and this is not pleasant. 

When they settled in to sleep, Keith was the image of bliss and happiness, even after John had gotten carried away and got a bit too rough sometimes. Keith wrapped himself in blankets and insisted he was just closing his eyes for a minute, even though he started snoring softly a few minutes later. John still couldn’t sleep, but this time he was so inspired by Keith that he was going to write his first cheesy love ballad while in bed with Keith after their first time together. John dug quietly through his bag for his notebook and a stub of a pencil, and started writing some of the most profound lyrics of his career so far. They were based off of Keith, but the first version of him he fell in love with. He knew that they would get better together.

_Baby, can't you see_

_I'm calling_

_A guy like you should wear a warning_

_It's dangerous_

_I'm falling_

_There's no escape_

_I can't wait_

_I need a hit_

_Baby, give me it_

_You're dangerous_

_I'm loving it_

_Too high_

_Can't come down_

_Losin' my head_

_Spinnin' 'round and 'round_

_Do you feel me now?_

_Oh,_

_The taste of your lips_

_I'm on a ride_

_You're toxic I'm slippin' under_

_With a taste of a poison paradise_

_I'm addicted to you_

_Don't you know that you're toxic?_

_And I love what you do_

_Don't you know that you're toxic?_

John fell asleep in the middle of writing with the book on his chest, and when he turned over it slid off and fell between the bedframe and the nightstand. He would forget it there when they were packing in a haste, and it would sit there collecting dust for another few decades, until in 2003, it would resurface mysteriously… 

The next day, they all had a lazy lie-in because they were running out of steam. It wasn’t until late that afternoon that the four disco homosexuals finally cleaned up the sinful scene from last night. Robert found a box of instant custard in the back of the cupboard, there was the copy of The Return of the King that got involved…they cleaned it up quickly and agreed not to mention it. They cleaned and ate as normal. Keith got the shower last and used what hot water was left. He sat in the water and did a lot of thinking, and luckily for him, things started piecing together. He turned off the water, dried off, and got dressed. He retrieved the single he had bought yesterday at the local record store and emerged into the living room where his friends were hanging out and talking. 

“Gentlemen and whomever, I have an announcement to make,” Keith stood in front of the couches and declared. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I have something very important to share with you all. After long consideration and a lot of experimenting in one single day, it’s time I say it.” 

You’re pregnant?” Pete gasped dramatically. He was hit with pillows from both couches for his bad joke. 

Keith put the 45 on the record player. Everyone knew the song right away. Keith started an elaborate choreographed dance that he spent a lot of time thinking about prior to any of this. The dance moves were over theatrical and very cheesy, but his friends loved and supported him through it anyways. After the long intro, Keith started lip-syncing while dancing, thus invented the concept of _lip-syncing for your life_ , which he would never be credited for despite dozens of court cases. 

“I’m comin’ out,” Keith mouthed along with Diana Ross, using a lot of non-ironic jazz hands. “I want the world to know, I’ve got to let it show.” 

Everyone politely watched the whole routine, which was set to the extended dance version of the song, thankfully for them. Everyone had assumed Keith had already accepted this about himself, but you only get one big coming out for your friends, so they acted very astounded and praised Keith for being so clever and an inspiration for their community. 

“I love how everyone here ended up being queer to some capacity,” Robert smiled like a proud mother. “If you line all eight of us up, I think we can create our own version of the spectrum.” 

“Was it ever specified what Bonzo identifies as?” John asked, meaning no harm. 

Bonzo shrugged. “The heart wants what the heart wants.” 

“Thank you, everyone,” Keith bowed graciously after his fourth round of applause. “Please, please. I want to follow up this performance with a long story. I’ve been thinking very hard lately, and finally things are piecing together.” 

“You’re gay?” Pete gasped theatrically, and then laughed at his own joke. People from both couches threatened to smother him. 

“When I look at you all, I realize that I’m deeply in love with each one of you in some way. And it’s safe to say we’re all attracted to each other, which is very rare but something very important we need to honour,” Keith philosophized. “I’ve learned a lot about the sex and dating culture here in Sweden, and I think I’d like that we all adopt their way of life. Therefore, I propose that we all start a polyamorous relationship and date each other all at once. That way no one has to let someone go and wonder what could have been. We get to hang out all the time without jealousy or betrayal. We just sit in our big hippy puddle of love and be better than ever.” 

The room fell silent, because everyone was lost in thought. Yeah, everyone had just finished coupling with their soulmates literally five seconds ago, but a little swinging was always fun. It occurred to everyone in the room simultaneously that they couldn’t think of any reason not to. As it was, their friend group was the step right before you reached legitimate polyamory. 

Everyone looked around and nodded. 

“Great! That went down a lot easier than I expected.” Keith clapped his hands together. “So let’s just have fun and make up the rules as we go along, yeah? Because I haven’t looked into this as much as I made it sound like I did.” 

“I don’t know why we haven’t thought of this before!” Robert cheered. 

“So all eight of us agree to love each other and live out a romantic partnership together for the rest of our lives?” Jimmy clarified. Everyone nodded, probably. 

“But wait,” Roger smiled. “Let’s keep it a secret from everyone we know and love just for the added mystery and drama.” 

John’s face lit up. “How about we pretend that we don’t give a shit about Led Zeppelin?” 

Pete joined in. “And we can act as if everyone in The Who hates each other?” 

Keith grinned. “That way, no one will suspect a thing!” 

Bonzo laughed. “What a wonderful idea!” 

Jonesy smiled. “Everybody wins!” 

Everyone cheered!!!!!!! And then they all took off their clothes and made love n a giant, sweaty orgy in the middle of the small Swedish chalet. Every variation of coupling you could ever imagine existed, every sex position was tried. They licked and kissed and bit and fucked and stroked and sucked and stretched and thrusted and moaned and it was glorious and heavenly and virtually flawless. 

While Pete was in the middle of getting his dick sucked by three different people, a funny thought popped into his head. He couldn’t help but share it with his friends. “Hey, how much do you wanna bet that some Canadian punk ass bitch is going to find out about these adventures 50 years later and write them for the internet to expose our dirty little secret but everyone thinks he’s writing ‘fan fiction’ and doesn’t take him seriously?” 

Everyone stopped moving for a moment. 

“What the fuck is an internet?” Robert asked kindly. 

“That seems kinda likely nonetheless,” John furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Are you kidding me?” Roger protested. “This plan is airtight. No one will ever know!” 

All eight men scrambled for their discarded trousers and fished out their wallets to place the bet anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end!! 
> 
> it's been fun everyone!! thank you for all your support along the way. i'd love to hear what you thought. i know it was a different approach to this series but i'm proud of it. thank you all for reading!! stay in contact on http://my-g-g-g-generation.tumblr.com. peace and love!!! take care of yourselves!!

**Author's Note:**

> this is the final fic of the series, and the last thing i will publish on here before i retire. have fun with this!


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